Marie, this one's for you.

It's been (well) over a year since I last posted something here, mostly because I haven't really written anything interesting in a long time. However, lately I've been trying to put on paper some recurring feelings I've had lately, and as a result I ended up making kind of a poem (I blame my fondness for loosely metered blank verse on a combination of laziness and wishing that regular prose had more inapporpriate line breaks [because if there's one consistent attribute in my poems, it's inappropriate line breaks]).

And now anyone on the internet can read it!

It’s loops.

And loops within loops,

Self defining, self sustaining.

Emulating and immolating

And looping

Like an old tape;

The last song plays

-a click-

                -whirring-

And it loops.

Again and

(I won’t say ‘again’ again, but you get the idea)

Like a sine wave,

Which means

-Mathematically speaking-

There are troughs,

And as high as the heights tower

(and while they’re hard to measure, being abstract,

I assure you they’re quite tall

-and unwieldy

                -and complex

                                -and recursive

-and unsustainable)

There is ALWAYS an equivelant reaction.

After all, that is the law.

Also, -returning to the point at hand-

The nature of loops

Which I suppose is why they’re frustrating:

Because all of us hate watching cheeks turn,

And with all these turns-

Not to mention all these cheeks-

You start to feel like you’re behind and at the bottom

(not a great place where cheeks are involved)

And no matter how high you climb, the wave is still moving

And no matter how many turns you make,

There is always another hand to slap you,

And even when you walk in a straight line,

In a curved universe you’ll always end up home again (I lied).

And you walk in the door, take off your coat, sit down, eat dinner, check your mail, go to bed, wake up, go to work, grab your lunch, go to meetings, head home, walk in the door

-and the tape clicks,

                -whirring-

Fantastic Tales! Also, Not Fantastic Tales.

So! As of today, I have been employed for something like a week, and I got my first pay, so I feel comfortable in saying that I am now For Real employed. It's different from most of my previous forms of employment, in that I am making money from it.

But yeah, for those of you who don't know I am now working as a roofer, which means that I am climbing around on rooftops (good), getting in something closer to physical shape (painful, but good), not sitting around doing nothing (definitely good), and getting on closer closer terms with the sun (it hurts and burns, and is painful).

I have, in my family, a rather long history of being violently opposed to the sun. There are many reasons for this (mainly because I am a heat pansy), but to better explain them to the world I have decided to write the Sun a letter. It follows:

Dear The Sun,

How are you? I am fine. I hope you are fine too. From what I hear, you are still wrenching apart hydrogen atoms and turning them into helium, along with other things which are also important, but that I have forgotten. I am proud of you! There are many stars, but as far as I know, you are the best one at allowing the ecosystem of the planet Earth to continue, and that is an important thing to do, in my opinion. I say this because I do not want to do die in a horrible inferno, or in a cold, empty vacuum as all life on earth freezes to death, and you prevent both of those. Good job.

But I am writing this letter to tell you something, and it is this: as much as I appreciate your existence, and the services you provide, you don't need to to be gung-ho. You have nothing to prove; you are the sun. You don't need to show how good you are at fusion! You have been doing it for billions of years, and you don't need to prove a thing.

I've known you for most of my life, Sun, and we've been through some crazy times together. Like, for example, scientists decided Pluto wasn't a planet. And we both know that they are jerks for that, but we're still cool with Pluto. Pluto's got no beef with us. And the internet became a huge deal! That was good times. Or that was one time when the War in Afghanistan started. Well, technically so far all of these things are still on-going. Or there was that time in the nineties when boy bands became popular, until people became (rightfully) ashamed of themselves, and replaced the boy bands with Hannah Montana and Justin Bieber. So not all of the stuff we've seen has necessarily been positive, but I think that in spite of that, we've gotten to know each other pretty well. I've seen you almost every day for almost 19 years now, and you have helped me get food, vitamin D, blisters, and all kinds of crazy stuff. It's been wild.

And in all that time, you have successfully been the sun. Without fail! It's impressive stuff, no doubt about it. But, like I said, you don't need to showy about it. Just do your thing! It's a good thing, and I'd be sad if you disappeared. But I'm cool with you not always being... quite so sunny.

See, there can sometimes be too much of a good thing. Like kindness! When you are freezing to death and someone makes a fire for you, that's just great. And when they let you come into their cabin to warm up, that's even greater! But when they proceed to lock you to the bed stand so you can always appreciate their charity, well-that's... that's just too much kindness. And also creepy and terrifying. And when they light the cabin on fire so you can always feel the warmth of their kindness forever, that's MUCH to much kindness.

And sunlight is the same way. When I'm cold and you warm me up, that's great. But when I'm warm and you warm me up, that isn't. And when I'm hot and you turn the roofs I'm standing on into living hellscapes dedicated to Charbalingen, the eldritch god of the eternal flames, that's just the opposite of great. It's like you are metaphorically locking me into a burning room, and also very similar to that physically.

In conclusion, you are great but please stop trying to light me on fire.

P.S. I realize that the current heat wave is mainly due to heat fronts and a lack of clouds, but it is hard to appreciate that when I'm walking around on a roof and being slowly char broiled.

Back at House, still finding Home

As of 11 o'clock last night, I am once again a resident of Ohio in fact as well as name. It's... quiet, and slightly disorienting. I have many fond memories of my home, but it doesn't really feel like home anymore (see "it's quiet, above). I suppose every person goes through periods of spiritual homelessness, but it's still a curious sensation.

In other news, I've actually written quite a lot of material in the last few months, but haven't posted it since it was for school, and I'm lazy and forgetful. A lot of it's been poetry, so I thought I'd post one of the pieces here.

Ode to the Passed

Goddess, sing to me!
Not of rage,
for I wish for no discord in thy symphony,
but sing of melancholy,
of chances lost in summer rains
of unsung soliloquies
and unloved maidens.
Sing, I pray,
to memories lost
and never formed,
to endless possibilities that ended

Inspire in the breast of all who hear you
the warm tears of summer
tears not of losing,
but of never having
the bittersweet twist
of endless possibilities come
to a close.

Sing of those who swore
that this night they would truly live
only to find in morning light
that they had merely
survived
and were fated to do so
until greeted with finality

And lastly, sing of me
Give me strength to face
unfilled possibilities,
and let me be rash
and foolish,
and filled with sensation

And when the rain
beats upon my windowpane,
let me think not of sunny days,
but of monsoons that I can face
someday with bared teeth,
and a smile.

I'm rather fond of this piece. I was supposed to put in a line from a song that I liked, and people who know me might recognize some lines from Summer Song, which happens to be an awesome song that you should go listen to.

So Once I Had This Blog Thing...

...But then I graduated high school and stopped updating it. Anyone who reads this should hopefully know me, and anyone who doesn't, good luck getting to know me through these writings. I never really planned on doing any more work on this blog, but last week something interesting happened: I was having a chat with my youngest older brother, and we were talking about writing, and it made me curious to see how my writing had held up, so I stopped by here and reread some old posts.

I was pleasantly surprised; Not all of the stuff on here is utter drivel! And in addition to that, I've been churning out schlock fairly consistently of late, because I have to for a class here. So I won't be updating regularly, but every now and then I will post a piece from my writing class, or a failed idea with some interesting concepts, political manifestos, etc.

Anyway, here's a mood piece I did last week. I was feeling hyper, and couldn't concentrate enough to actually produce something, so I wrote instead:

Spring Fever

2/19/11

Spring is in the air, and my bones are twisting out of their shells. I'm trying to write this all down before I go stir crazy and start punching things, but I'm not optimistic. Spring fever is a gloriously frustrating sensation; it's typified by a burning desire to tear down empires and raise galaxies, but it's accompanied by such a frenetic caffeinated jittering that you can't actually produce much of anything other than incoherent shouting.

I think it's best at night: you get that achy bittersweet remembrance of childhood, unmarred by any recollection of what your childhood was really like. It's a blessing, the night air. It's intoxicating like the sweetest incense, and fleeting like unfaithful love. It makes you remember the smell of baking dust, of roads too hot to walk on in bare feet (but of course you went barefoot anyway, and you tried to find the tarry patches of road because somehow the gooey, barely contained ooze felt cooler than the concrete). It makes you want to run forever, just pick a road and start running until you hit ocean and towering whitecaps, throwing dreams into the sunlit, sea filled air. And you know they're lying, but your bones tell you that when you see the ocean coming, you’re going to go in swimming, and go down fighting.

It makes you want to drink water from strange and dangerous places; wells, streams, hoses if you're lacking in resources. You want to run the through the grass, and maybe wrestle in it too. You want to see people have expressions that shows the kind of wonder that's too happy to stay but still feels strangely, peculiarly right. You want love; fleeting, ethereal, springtime love that's doomed to die by summer but leave you with a bittersweet tang of unused potential.

You want to grow, and die, and live forever. And you know it's a beautiful lie, but you also know, deep down, that this time, this summer, you're going to live forever.

Well Hullo Thur

It's been a while, and while that's my fault, I am not going to apologize for it. It's a well known fact that Internet speakers (or "interspeaknetterkers", to use the "hip lingo" of "young ones" "these days" "") are like wild animals in that they can scent your fear, and will annihilate you once it has detected. I mean, just look at AOL.
Before I wander off on another tangent, and that almost certainly will occur, I'd like to introduce the central topic of Today. I sometimes read the blogs of my beloved spawn siblings (notice that I have not included Evan on this list because he does not have a blog [this is my subtle way of telling Evan he should go make a blag, and write things on it to entertain me like the dancing capuchin monkey that I happen to know is his totem creature{GO GET A BLOG EVAN YOU HOBO}]), and it occured to me that two of them were both sounding super motivated and stuff, and I happen to know that one of my other sisters is also super motivated with her super cooking, while only one of them sounded as confused by things as I am. Maybe it's because she lives in Utah (I know I would be confused).
Anyway, my own bewilderment stems from the fact that recently I've been spending unhealthy amounts of time working on scholarships recently, and A) I really, really hate the scholarship process, and B) I know way less about my future goals than I would like to admit.
I mean, I know that I want to graduate, then get my Associate's degree at NC State in Computer Information Systems, and then I want to go on my mission, and then I want to... Things. Also words.
This wouldn't bother me much, except that scholarship committees really, really, REALLY love learning about my future. Am I some kind of superentrepenuer? ...Kind of, I guess? I mean, I guess could run my own company, but it's not what I would describe as a burning passion. Or something I want to do at all. Am I super motivated for my eventual super career? Kah-ree-ar? what is this kahrear that you are speak of? Are you a super motivated super learner? YES! Yes, I am that. I like to learn things. Put that one on my check list. Am I willing and ready to write a couple of hundred (thousand) essays to reach my goal of an amorphous, undecided future? Not really, no. Too bad for me, I get to do that anyway. I just feel uncomfortable telling people about how pumped I am to get my Bachelor's in the supertechwizardmaster field so that I can eventually reach my goal of fixing the snot out of EVERY COMPUTER EVER, and possibly also fighting bears. Maybe Computerbears (cyberweasels, even). I hate to admit it, but I am not actually that pumped about getting a career some day. I don't like working, I like learning. Learning is my thing. I want to go to college because I have a passion for book smarts.
That's pretty much it.

And now, because I am a loving (albeit neglectful) blog poster guy person adjective, I am going to
PUMP

YOU UP!

With music. I am pretty fond of it, and while most of you have probably heard a lot of it before, listen to it again. It is good music. First up: Bishop Allen. This is an indie group that I was introduced to by the previously mentioned itinerant hobo, Ervin. Those of you who have Buzz, a handy feature recently released by Google (which Evan ALSO doesn't have, possibly because cardboard boxes don't have internet access), will already know that I am a pretty big fan of Bishop Allen. Here are some songs by them. Most of these are repeats of my Buzz buzz, but they are all good so listen to them again. Next up is the Aquabats! I first learned of The Best Band in The World from Meggan, who at the time was a worldly something-older-than-me visiting from College, bearing gifts of Ska, TMBG, and A Capella. I was enraptured by all three, especially this one A Capella anthology she had (Scottish Spring anyone?), which was listened to until its surface was scratched like a well used ice rink that hadn't been visited by a Zamboni in years (me and my young brood companions were not kind to CD's in the old days). Anyway, after Meggan abandoned me to wend her way to more fruitful pastures, my interest in music waned and didn't reawaken until years later, when I found out that A) The internet is a thing that exists; and B) Youtube has every song ever. At all. Seriously, all of them. And that led to a renaissance of discovery, including, recently, the Aquabats. They are probably my favorite Ska band, and ska is awesome, so go check out their stuff. Also, here are some other songs that I am too lazy to write descriptions for. I have eclectic taste in music.

Lastly, have a good day, or night, or whatever time it is wherever you read this, and go check out Jonathan Coulton, because he is awesome but I don't want to spend even more time linking to him because I have spent a lot of time on this already. And finally, one more link: The whale song by Modest Mouse. It has arguably the most surreal music video I've ever seen, and I LOVE IT. Awesome

Hey you Guys (Gals?)

Hey, long time no post.

Which is my fault.

Let's let bygones be bygones, ok?

Anyway, this is kind of depressing, because I'm going to be going on hiatus soon. By which I mean a month ago. Which kind of sucks. As for reasons, it's mainly laziness. I was never overly dedicated to this project to begin with, and I just started running out of things to talk about. Honestly, I've always thought that was impossible, but.... it's not. So yeah.

Also, I've had a lot of school, the aliens are holding my loved ones hostage, I'm scouting out colleges and jobs... there's just a lot on my plate.

basically, I'm switching the update schedule to its original format, which is "Whenever I feel like it, and my fans can go choke on their anger vomit." Love yall!

Expect an update next..... time.

Thing a Week 47: (metaphorically)

This is a piece I wrote for English a few weeks ago, that I liked enough to post. unfortunately, I lost the paper that had my only copy of it, so until I find it, this is all that's available to read. In other news, I've decided to finally get off my butt and do enough posts to fill out my backlog; therefore, in the following days i will be producing three more posts to catch up.

Also, in quick (but relevant) side note, when I consider my writing habits, I'm reminded of a quote by the brilliant Douglas Adams: "I love deadlines. I love the sound they make when they go whooshing by."

There's a telephone pole located right by my house, in the grass by the sidewalk in front. It's a pretty typical telephone pole, as far as these things go, but it recently struck me that I've become so used to it that it's become effectively invisible.
I've lived in the same house for almost all my life, and I've always had this 50 foot tall stick jutting out of the lawn right by my sidewalk. It's one of the things that I ought to know like the back of my hand-but if it comes to that, how many times have you really paid attention to the back of your hand? It's the most familiar things things in our life that we pay the least attention to.
Most of the details I can think of are snatches of memories of growing up: Making snowballs to throw at the

Thing a Week 46: I Totally got Mugged a Few Weeks Ago

Welp, here is the double post, as promised. I will do my best to create well thought out, creative, emotive pieces, because I'm a pretty cool guy who's filled with creative ideas and artistic integrity.

Yes!

Anyway, I've got a few things to talk about.

First up: I am kind of an eagle scout now, and I could use some pictures of me committing various acts of Eagle Scoutlery upon innocent bystanders. If any of the people reading this (read: my direct family) have pictures that fit that profile, I'd appreciate if you let me take those pictures, and use them, and then maybe remember to vie them back. Also, I am totally having my court of honor after Christmas, and anyone who reads this is invited.

Next up: I got mugged a few weeks ago, and didn't really talk that much about it, so here is the account, as fully as I can remember it:
Two or so weeks ago, I went to the library to pick up some books. As I was walking, three guys approached me walking in the opposite direction. I kept walking, they passed me, and then when I looked down, I noticed that their shadows had stopped walking away from me. Instead of turning around and saying moderately inappropriate comments about their hygiene, lineage, and personal habits, then running away (which is my plan for the next time this happens),I continued to walk, and then they started walking after me. Then they caught up with me. At this point, I was pretty sure I was going to get mugged, possibly because I'm psychic or not an idiot. The guy who seemed to be in charge said Syper? (siper? ciper? cyper? sigh-pur? I don't know, but apparently it's some sort of code) at me a few, times, became impatient when I stuttered confusedly, and then proceeded to express his disagreements with my bewildered comments via the traditional method, i.e. having me briskly hit his fist with my face. They then proceeded to punch me one more time, this time in my temple, and then removed my backpack, searched my pockets for items of value, took my mp3 player, told me repeatedly that they had a gun (I'm pretty sure they were lying), and then ran away. I stood up, and continued walking to library.

In response to the questions that people always seem to ask when I tell them about this:
No, I didn't fight back. It's a bad idea when you're outnumbered, and it keeps the muggers from hurting you severely
No, I didn't get hurt badly. They only punched me twice, and neither time hurt that much, it was just disorienting,
Yes, the muggers were all black. Why does everyone I talk to ask me this? IS IT THAT VITAL TO KNOW THE RACE OF MY MUGGERS? Why are people so intrigued with the fact that I was punched by minority figures?
As to what was taken: My backpack was the main loss. I've had that thign for at least 3-4 years, and it's lasted great up to its being stolen. next most important was my mp3 player, which was a piece of junk, but had my music and I miss it. I've got all my songs backed up, but I don't have convenient access, which is frustrating. I also lost two school ID tags, which is annoying because they cost cold hard cash, a commodity I tend to have in short supply. I also lost a library book (the Interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud, if you were wondering), somethign else I'm going to have to pay to replace. In total, I'm probably going to end up being about $60-$70 in the whole to replace everything I've lost.

That is, in a manner of speaking, two separate items of writing. I'm also going to be posting I descriptive piece I wrote recently, but the only copy that I have of it is written on treeflesh, and I won't be able to post it until I get my hard copy back.

P.S. As an aside, money/items to help pay for items lost in muggings make GREAT christmas present,s if any of you were wondering.

Thing a Week 45: A Whine!

Right, I failed yet again to post on time, and this time I have chosen to blame (noun) Thanksturkey day. It made me fat, it slowed my reflexes, and prevented me from typing.

Don't question the logic, accept the magic.

Anyway, I will be double posting again because I fail.

Still trying to Make Up for My Artistic Failures

Since I've been dropping the ball pretty regularly on my updates recently, I thought I'd try to make up for it with an additional post mid-week. The topic is one which will probably estrange three of the four people who read this blog, since they are all my sisters.

I'm talking about Twilight, of course. This has gone on long enough. It is time to stop. Pop culture, as a whole, needs to get over its collective fascination with sparkling angst-beasts, and move on to something else (which will probably be equally retarded, but will at least be DIFFERENT). To fend off any questions, no , I still haven't read anything by Mrs. Meyer, nor do I have any intention. I was embarrassed by the thought of reading it back when it was simply the obsession of every female I knew, but by now I'm actually scared to read it, lest I start mooning over Edward (He's SO supr dreamy, rite? lol), and trying to move to wherever those things live. Somewhere called Fork, I guess.

I mean, honestly! This has reached a pandemic scale. New moon SET THE NEW WORLD RECORD FOR FIRST DAY TICKET SALES. THE WORLD RECORD. IT BEAT THE DARK KNIGHT! This is no longer annoying, this is an epedimic, and I'm getting to the point where I'm tempted to start using traditional methods to cure the disease: burn all the bodies of the infected.

THE ARTICLE FOR THE NEW MOON MOVIE HAS MORE CITATIONS ON WIKIPEDIA THAN GEORGE WASHINGTON. I'm sorry to be the one to say this, but vampires, no matter how dreamy, are not as important as the father of the United States of America.



THEY JUST AREN'T

Thing(s) a Week 44... Kind of.

Awright, I didn't exactly post an article last week.... at all.
No I don't have an excuse, I just couldn't think of anything to write about.
As recompense, I am going to give you, the audience two (2), yes, TWO articles, for the price of one (since both are free, this equals a truly tremendous discount)*

Thing a week 43: Complaints.
One of the primary factors in my lack of updating this week was schooling. I've complained long enough about what I was working on, and anyone who reads this probably knows what I'm talking about, but suffice it to say: I had an unusually stiff amount of work to do in school over the course of last week, and as result, I am kind of written out. I don't really want to write anymore. I feel, in fact, like not writing for at least a period of time. How long? I don't know. Some quantity. I'm going to write anyway, but don't expect vivacity, wit, or coherence.
In other words, things are going pretty much as per usual on my side, how are you?
Seocndary complaint before I stop whining: sleep is good, and not-sleep is very tiring. that is all.

Thing a Week This Week: Links Links, Other Links, and More Links.

I recently went on a Youtube bender, and rediscovered an interesting fatc: Youtube has some really good short films on it.

again, that is all.




*Due to certain factors including, but not limited to, the fact that I am lazy, both articles will be sub-par to make up for the added effort on my part

Thing a Week 42:Robots!

I was thinking today, a habit that I've had trouble kicking in spite of myself, and I started wondering what exactly would happen if, when the robots take over, they have a high (or low) enough level of sentience to try to achieve culture. Would the culture be completely different from what humans think, like elegantly written pieces of coding, or would the new civilization ape its old masters?

I don't know, but I think it definitely be more entertaining if it was the latter, for one simple reason: I fully expect the main repository of all human culture to be Youtube by the time the robots get around to destroying us, which means that if robots judge our culture on some kind of algorithm using the ratings and view counts of the videos, then in all probability they will form the only logical hypothesis: Human culture is based primarily on omnipresent record companies, adorable cats, whiny vloggers, adorable puppies, pretentious conspiracy theorists, adorable cats and puppies playing together, Twilight fangirls, and more adorable animals. And mentos/diet pepsi experiments. From the hypotheis, I therefore posit that robot culture will pretty much be the coolest thing Humanity has ever been responsible for.


Ever.

Thing a Week 41: At a Loss for Words.

After the world ended, the E+Blue super computer (the first ever binary based device known to pass the Turing Test successfully enough to be be accepted as "sentient" by the majority of the scientific populace) began a program to repopulate it with being constructed from the data left in its memory banks. However, due to several unfortunate and highly traumatic events (mainly caused by the world ending), several of the protocols most necessary to carry out a program of this nature had been corrupted, or at the least lost fairly extensive amounts of data. Due to some rather ingenious programming, however, E+Blue was able to form a workaround to this problem by combining the attributes of various animals with similar physical and behavioral characteristics. The workaround was extremely successful, and since E+Blue had a fairly comprehensive backup of human society that had been more heavily protected than the rest of the data, life managed to continue in spite of the minor setback of having completely ended (except for the cockroaches).
In fact, there was only one major setback to the program. Due to a rather severe lack of foresight, an exhaustively thorough collection of mythical beasts had been cataloged in the category of actual animals, and since E+Blue didn't have the appropriate circuitry to identify them as nonexistent, they were brought to life with everything else, and in many cases meshed together. This is understood by historians to be the main contribution to the collapse of the McHane Dynasty in 362 P.A.

40: It's Late, it's #40. I did 39 Other Ones.

A proclamation:

In my years as a citizen in the flawed idyll we call the United States of America, it has frequently been brought to my attention that what our country truly needs is a strong leader. A strong hand at the tiller, if you will. Someone, in short, who will take control of our bright countries policies, and guide us through the stormy seas of life with minimal quantities of hull-scraping and crashing into reefs, wrecks, and other unfortunately sharp pointy objects.

THEREFORE

At the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of the citizens of these United States, I, Genghiz Cohen, formerly of Denial, North Dakota, and now for the last 9 years and 10 months past of the Internet, declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these United States; and in virtue of the authority thereby in me vested, do hereby order and direct the representatives of the different States of the Union to assemble on Blogger.com, on the 1st day of Dec. next, then and there to make such alterations in the existing laws of the Union as may ameliorate the evils under which the country is laboring, and thereby cause confidence to exist, both at home and abroad, in our stability and integrity.

Norton II, Emperor of the United States, Protector of Mexico, Defender of the Peace and Purveyor of Justice.

I assure you, you will not regret my decision.

(If this doesn't make any sense to you, then you desperately need to educate yourself on one Joshua Abraham Norton, A fascinating gentleman.)

Thing a Week 39: With Pictures this Time!

Just a quickie post, but this time I have three (3) graphic aides to supplement the word snack I'm presenting you with. Basically, at school I'm in a graphic design class, and a recent assignment was to make three t-shirt patterns. When it comes to drawing things, I tend to be a massive over doer, so I naturally decided to make three t-shirts that would wow the ages and make children weep with joy. Short of that, I'd settle for shirts that would, at the very least, make children weep.
I failed in that respect, but I ended up making three products that I'm very happy with overall.

The Zombie shirt was my last piece. I was in a pretty big hurry when I made it, and it shows on the lack of polish, but over all I think it's pretty good. I would liked to put on a appropriate font if I'd had the time, but it's too late for that now.



the Dino was my middle piece, and it's the one I'm least satisfied with. It's not terrible, but I kind of slapped it together. given the chance, I would have definitely smoothed things out more, developed the rider a bit, and, again, gotten a font that looked at least half-way decent.








This one was my first, and my favorite by miles. I sweated art to get this right, and I'm really happy with the result. I really wanted a bright, blocky feel, but I didn't want it to be overly simplistic. I think I managed to capture that pretty well, and I also gave it my favorite caption of the bunch. this was my personal winner, hands down.



P.S. Sorry about the text being all mashed up, I'm not used to dealing with pictures.

Thing a Week 39: The 39th Thing a Week... by me.

This is another post where I have to edify, entertain and elucidate! It fails in two of the three, but you will have the decide which ones these are on your own.

Anyway, my subject today is something that I hold dear to my heart, namely: my hatred of mornings. I've already chronicled my uncomfortable relationship with sunlight, but what I have not mentioned is that my hatred grows and wanes with the time. Obviously, there is a seasonal cycle, with summer (or "hot face burny ouch time" as I like to call it) at the top of my impotent rage scale, but there is also a daily rageometer operating as a subroutine on the motherboard of my consciousnesses. I speak of mornings. I know this is cliche, but I hate mornings. When I first wake up, I consider light to be not just a bane, but an enemy, one towards which I hold a deep, abiding and intensely personal grudge. My body and mind are geared toward a life spent in the twilight hours, and waking is an affront to everything I hold dear (by which I mean my sleep). There is a feeling, as one feels the acid of daylight drip into ones eyes, that the impudent waveicles are laughing, even snickering as they pry away at the bliss of unconscious thought.
And now I'm going to bed, to continue the fight anew come tomorrow.

Thing a Week 38: Kind of a Ripoff.

So this is way late, and kind of a rip off as well. sorry bout that.

Anyway, a while ago I revealed to the world one of the most beautiful pieces of prose ever to grace the eyes of man, the likes of which i never imagined could be seen again lest the concentrated Glory of two such masterpieces existing on the same plane of existence should cause the world to crumble into specks of PURE AWE. As my readers may have guessed, I was wrong. and thus, I once again present to you, my readers:

Dragon-Star Revengeant

Book 1 in the Dawn of the SanguiBorn Octohuplet

In the black caves of Gorsungurd, a typical child is born to typical filthy peasant parents. A typical child, yes... BUT WITH A MOST ATYPICAL FUTURE!!!!!!!! for it is in his destiny to become the Scion of the Dragon-Star, the mystic relic that it is prophesied will someday destroy the cruel overlord of Mal Gr'imm'r, Zal Naw'tieF'elah. But how can he fulfill his destiny...

WHEN THE VERY RELIC THAT COULD SAVE THE WORLD MAY ITSELF BE EVIL!!!

Available in every book selling outlet, ever.

Rave reviews from some newspapers or something!

"Anderson has continued to write... a book" (Circus Purview)

"This new piece from fantasies most torturous new author has... some highlights. An absolutely... new story." (Starred review)



I probably enjoy writing things like this more than I ought to.

Thing a Week 37: I put the wrong number on last week.

This is kind of a crappy piece, but it's all I have right now. it sprung from a conversation that I had with my brother, and I wanted to see if I could translate into a decent short story.

You know what happens when you save the world? It keeps going. and after it's continued keeping going, it changes, and you become unnecessary. It doesn't help when the peril isn't readily visible, and people are able to rationalize themselves into believing that you didn't do anything.
But trust me when I say, I saved the world. And no, you won't be able to avoid having me tell you about it.
For the sake of my own sanity, I'm going to assume that you know what nanobots are. If you don't, leave right now and don't come back until you've figured out the basics of not being illiterate in the 21st century. Seriously, you need to catch on some reading material.

I'm going to have to finish this up next week.

Thing a Week 36: Not gonna say it

Ever wondered what it would feel like to walk across the U.S? Just grab some shoes, fill a back pack, and start hiking? There's a certain mythos, I think, in our sedentary culture, that celebrates the kind of person it takes to do something that stupid and awesome.

I want to be that person. I want to join the cycle of awesome stupidity. I want to be able, someday, to be at a dinner party, and overhear someone complaining about how much they have they walk around at their job, and I want to look them in the eye, squint in a manly manner, and say, in my gratuitously gravelly voice, "Try walking across America" And then every bald eagle in the surrounding 49 1/2 states would simultaneously explode from the awesome, softly weeping proud, proud tears.

SOME DAY I WILL BE THAT PERSON

Thing a Week 35: Late again

I'm late again, but I just had few points that I thought were kind of interesting, that I wanted the world to be aware of.

1. A bad simile is like a unicorn on a motorcycle fighting a grizzly bear in a hang glider: It just doesn't make sense... No matter how good it sounds.
2. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but when you combine them, you can make a catapult. I think that further experimentation may be required.
3. Often, people make me do things I don't really want to do at all. When I ask them why, they tell me it's because I need to learn how to these things for later in life. I respond that I don't mind paying other people to do things I hate, and they tell me to get to work. From this, I deduce the following:

• People like to watch me doing things I hate.

That's all I got for now.