[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 8 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Friday, December 3rd, 2004|
The Physician's Creed, pt 1 (A tale of Alphesia)
The blue glow faded slowly, soaking into the sweaty, pockmarked flesh. The Physician gently removed his hand from the miner's sunken chest, leaving a faint handprint of Ley residue. Knees creaking in nagging protest, he rose to his feet, the patient's bloodshot, rheumy eyes widening slightly as they followed the Physician up, up, and further up. It was too common a reaction by far to still illicit surprise from the healer, and any bemusement he felt failed to make it past his impassive countenance. He was tall by any human reckoning, even moreso by stunted Alphesian standards, his limbs attenuated to seeming fragility. Veins spidered prolifically beneath his almost translucent skin, giving him the appearance of a statue of pale marble, designed to some grotesque, angular specification. His face, constructed to the same alien design, betrayed little in the way of human emotion, a funereal mask of delicate mica, contours sharp and unforgiving. Teeth, unnaturally glossy, protruded from ghoulishly recessed gums, scarcely contained by thin, bloodless lips of pale lavender. Hair, lank and brittle, fell in a negligent cascade about his prominent, almost jagged ears, but glimmered with the same nacreous gloss as his teeth. All these things separated him from the common run of Alphesian stackers, but it was the eyes that sealed the compact, alienating him from the line of mortal man. Burning, these eyes, cold, baleful flame smouldering behind panes of clouded ice. It brought to mind the refinery glow of the condensing towers, the engine wash of the orb-gurney. Meeting the gaze of the physician was like staring deep into an extraction furnace. The glow of Ley, the symbol of progress...the badge of his Disease.( Read more...Collapse )
|Wednesday, December 1st, 2004|
Alphesia pt 4
The cog stair shuddered up the side of the Shield Wall lifting Doubt from the grit filled streets up to the soot stained heights. He kept his eyes down on the trip up since there was nothing to see. On either side of him the stained dark windows of the apartment-buttresses were dark and sullen. Behind him he knew he’d see another Mine, its squat mushroom cap shell rising up until it was lost in the haze, the apartment buttresses like broken obelisk rising from the ground then snapping along their lengths to lean against the bleak walls. The sky above ever gray and drizzling grit, the by-product of Alphesia’s industry. He put out his palm and allowed a handful of the stuff to settle. It was like oily sand mixed with ash that had been reduced to a fine powder. It was the sign that Alphesia was alive.
Alphesia breathed poison. It devoured the geomantic potential of the land and refined it producing numerous wonders of science. Grit was the by-product of the refining process, a deadly ash that filled the passageways of the city and the lungs of it citizens. The doctors called the affliction from grit inhalation the Wracks, a dry cough accompanied by abdominal muscle spasms. Doubt had been coughing a lot lately.
Doubt was deposited at the top of the cogstair near Sal’s warehouse and he hurried to it. He checked his chronometer. He was an hour late. He pushed the button to activate the warehouse’s Gritlock entry system and waited for the heavy door to open. Stepping into the small enclosure Doubt shed his heavy protective gear; tattered green parka, heavy gloves, boots, and filter mask and emerged a man of medium height and athletic build with a clean shaved head and sharp jaw line. He would have had an attractive face if it weren’t for the fact that his nose was crooked, having been broken during his time as a Lineman by a yet-to-be-classified organism.
After a moment the air began cycling and powerful vacuum pumps began siphoning away excess grit. When the room was clean, as it would get the inner door opened and Doubt stood facing Sal’s steel and rubber carapace.
|Friday, April 23rd, 2004|
so long as we're posting old stuff :)
I think this is the beginning of a short story I was working on ages ago.... I am beginning to remember the general idea
Dr. Acies had made up his mind. He would follow through with the plan no matter how convincing their arguments against the idea.
The final arrangements were made with infinite patience. He had all the time in the world, and he couldn’t risk anything being overlooked. The final reports from the contact in Okhotsk had arrived early that morning. They were the last. After reviewing them he filed them away along with the others. The reports came in from near and far. For the most part on time, with a few stragglers. They came in from Sydney and Sapporo, Reykjavic and Rome, New York and New Houston.
Most of the investments were conservative and long term. For the first few years all of the services he required were pre-paid. There was a sort of beauty to the system. Everyone would profit from it, especially if they made sure everyone else was doing their job. He had money enough. He had money enough to insure the comfortable living of a small group of people indefinetely. The economy would go up, it would go down, it would probably crash several times. But so long as there was something profitable going on somewhere, one of his people would be in on it. One of his people would be in on it and everyone would be all the better. Few appreciated the beauty of the system as well as he did. After all, Dr. Acies was a genius. A ‘borderline genius’ they had called him. What nonsense. He was no genius. He merely knew a great many things, and was good at most anything he tried his hand at.
the character is cryogenically frozen, and the rest of the story is set in the world he wakes up in....
|Friday, May 28th, 2004|
sEVEN- fOUR- tWO tHOUSAND tHREE
Drip, Drip, Drip
The sky is my eye
My eyes are broken
Pour...P P P
My glow bleeds
It went out
Now it weeps
As the skies open I see
I can give all I have
And all I have is me
Their arms wide open
They show who they are
I want what they have
They take all of me
I sit waiting patiently
My arms wide open
Glimmers of hope turn to waters of despair
Hands grasp all I am
My heart bleeds
I need what they have
Doubting there is enough
I give knowledge og needs
They seek selfishly
I still wait patiently
Reviewing my glow
All I gave in the past
This time, last time
The time before that
First time since the last
and the time before that
This time we have no time
They can't find my glow
Offer what was lacked
More promises are made
But arms closed stay closed
But ears weakened with care
I'm here with the glows
Mine and theirs
I give some of me
To never again be combined as we
We live with the past
Stronger with knowledge
Receptive to the others
We hunt together
Separate but here
We hurt together
Hoping the others are near
-cleaned out all of my files and found some things i wrote a time ago- Current Mood: exhausted
|Friday, February 27th, 2004|
This is a shell script I just wrote.
# kill all processes matching a regular expression
# Usage: regexkillall.sh patterntokill [-signal]
# Example: regexkillall.sh vmware -9
ps ax -o pid,comm | grep $1 | tr -cd 0-9[:space:] | sed 's/^ *//' | cut -f 1 -d " " | xargs kill $2
Current Mood: accomplished
|Monday, February 23rd, 2004|
someone other than me post in here.
|Friday, February 20th, 2004|
cross posted in my Lj cause i can.
Her one good high heel clicked unsteadly on the pavement, while the other stockinged foot became wet and grimy. Walking lopsided, she reflected, was one of lifes less plesant activities, but she'd already stepped on a piece of glass, and wasn't eager to chance matching the other foot.
This isnt how it works in the movies, she tells herself over and over. The Femme Fatal never breaks a heel.
She regards the black pump in her right hand with a mixture of contempt and irritation willing it to beg forgivness.
It serves her right though she hates to admit it to herself. She bought the shoes at a small Payless near the airport when she realized that she had forgoten to pack her own.
A stich in time saves your stockings and keeps you from looking like a beaten prostitute. This thought is accompanied by a rueful grin, thinking back to all the terrible cornball addages her mother had lavished upon her in her youth, but that was before the War, and before her mothers house had been bombed.
Now was diffenet, the warm summer and smell of baking bread replaced by a damp allyway and the smell of rotting garbage.
At the end of the allyway she turned right, and stoped under a tattered green domed awning. Set flush in the crumbling black brick wall was a beaten rust stained bare metal door, no handle on her side. She rapped sharply on it twice.
"Whoser?" from inside.
"Claudia, open up." behind the door she can hear the sharp scrape of metal against stone as the hasp is pulled away. The door, displeased with being disturbed, protests. Loudly.
"You really should oil that thing Vince."
"And you should start lettin me take yah on dates, neither's happenin anytime soon."
more later on this if ya'll want.
an idea im working on.
Some feedback, ideas would be nice.
Soon as i have an idea of a timeline, chars, ect, im gonna start making it fiction.
Historical reseach, period work.
Architypes to use-
Foresworn oath hero
“Mad” Apothacary Savant
Traveling Adventuress (erstwhile leader)
Comidic Acrobat/Martial artist
King James of Scotland – Sustained by Faith and the blood of the Witchkind he so desperately despises, excommunicated by the church and on the inquisitions top 10 list for trafficking with devils.
Mythic Albion Steam/Magic setting?
Need to use real world deitys and cults with this…
That could be fascinating
Normal history progressed?
Golden Dawn, Round Table, ect.
Pistols (Springfield armory never happened so standardization didn’t either)
Industrial revolution put to a halt by Edward Ludd and his Mystic-Savants.
Masoch – vampire lord
Historical figures given fantasy makeover a-go-go.
History limited in scope to the 1600’s, otherwise overload.,
Russia ruled by a Fascist Dragon his semi-mortal-decendants and there Russian Jotunhiem.
Spain has become a Total Theocracy under the Zelousness of the Church. The Inquisitor-Emperor is the most feared man in the world.
The Vatican burns in the aftermath of the Catholic/Inquisitor war. Rome now part of the empire of Iberia.
The Greeks turn to their Egyptian neighbors (who with the aid of there gods never succumbed to the Islamic invasion) for aid citing the Treaty of Hetrodotus in which the Olympiads and the Lords of the Heavens began to intermix.
Small fief empires carved out nightly.
The protagonists should be Albionians, perhaps one Atlantian? Perhaps one Avalonian?
The Northern Europeans are involved in their own quiet war against Russia.
The Celts and Druidic peoples of Albion have removed themselves to Ireland, where they have broken into tribes. No-one approaches The Misty Isle without the Druids invitation.
Small enclaves have returned to Albion under the magnanimous invitation of Queen Victoria, who is in her late 50’s at the time of this tale.
Egypt itself is mired down in a Beurocracy several thousand years old, and is crumbling. The Pharoh is a fool and a child who refuses to learn to properly harness the divine right empowered into him. An An assirian coup is being formented?
Egypt must fall somehow in the scope of this tale.
Ethiopian Highlands- Nubia/Lemuria
more to come.