To All Of You (acoustic) - Syd matters
Merry New Years Eve!
All the best.
Love Myself - Hailee Steinfeld
Happy Summer-like Christmas and other assorted holidays!
New Emarosa (chapter 8) posted, and short story added entitled Broken Angels.
All the best.
The crusty old man, no more wise than bitter, took his seat at an empty evening diner on the edge of town. Whether he’d been there before was of no great consequence (for he himself could not recall); the place held a distinct, I shouldn’t be here but what the hell, feeling. It was the sort of place you’d end up when you’ve reached the end of your road. The 20s, or maybe 30s something waitress, appeared equal parts amused and amazed at the crusty man’s furious, bushy eyebrows as he seated himself at the counter.
“What can I get’cha?” she asked.
“Coffee. Black,” he grunted.
He stared out the window as he waited, the sun riding the mountain ridges chasing the dusk. His disposition faded with the daylight. Before long ceramic clinked from the counter, his coffee mug steaming before him.
“What brings ya out ‘ere?” the waitress asked.
“Dunno,” he murmured, burning his chapped lips at the sip.
“Yeah, we get that a lot.” She leaned on the counter opposite of him, receiving no great notice.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here…” the crusty codger wondered aloud.
The man kept his gaze on the window, watching watercolors spill across the skyline as the mountains finally defeated the day. Tiny specks grew more daring by the minute, sprinkling across the empyrean, heralding Luna to begin her ascent. The waitress grinned a halfhearted grin, watching the weary traveler with interest.
“I dun’ think anyone s’pose ta’ be here. We jes’ are.” The waitress remarked.
“It isn’t that. It’s different. I really think I’m not meant to be anywhere…” He insisted, his million-yard stare unable to pierce his cooling coffee.
“It’s always diff’ernt luv. But here ya’ are,” she smirked, her eyes aglow in the hum of the illuminating fluorescent sign now lighting the window.
The old coot with crusty brows snorted. He rose from his stool, digging through obviously empty pockets. His face turned flush the longer his fingers scrambled about his trousers, his furious brows softening into something closer to sullen. Perhaps even pathetic.
The waitress simply smiled, and came around the counter. With her hands on her hips, her face shifted into a I’ve told you so many times before scowl that you’d find only on an old friend that knew even your dumbest secrets. The man lowered his head in shame. The waitress came up behind the old codger, wrapping her arms around him as she leaned her chin over his shoulder. Clearly taken aback, the man did his best to look to her.
“No worries luv,” she spoke as, with a single finger, she gently nudged his face toward a Help Wanted sign collecting dust in the window. “If ya’ got nowhere ta’ be anyway, may as well be ‘ere,” she gave him a loving kiss on the cheek as she took his coffee back to fetch a refill. When she returned, she found bushy brow’s cheeks glistening. He sighed. Looking up to her through moist eyes, he stammered as he tried to get the words out.
“I’m sorry. Honestly, I’ve got nothing left. I just–” the waitress placed her finger on his burnt, chapped lips.
“Hush luv. We all go ta’ places like that sooner or later. But we don’t have ta’ do it alone.”
She took a seat next to the old man, pouring a cup for herself as the scars decorating her wrists became apparent. She turned to him, listening to stories of days past he could scarcely remember, of foolish dreams in which he might still believe.
After some time, she shared her own stories of life, work, and the things most people don’t discuss, turning cups of coffee into a lingering kindness. Whether they recalled each other’s names in the morning no could really say, but one thing’s for sure: though neither were well-met to make it through the day, they’d carried one another through another otherwise endless night.
Lights (iTunes Session)
Sea of Dragonfire chapter 7 posted.
“Good, or Don’t Be”
There was a girl no one has ever seen.
She was not invisible, nor was she hidden.
She appears and disappears because she gets all attached,
but before long they’re not hanging around anymore.
She’s a dream that fell from the sky and can’t find her way home.
She’s the room that can’t warm because the sun never shines on closed doors.
She’s lives a step away from the mercy of a beautiful child in her darkest hours.
She’s the living memory that all you’ve loved don’t mean nothing when it’s gone.
She doesn’t want to be home and she doesn’t want to be alone,
But she don’t want nobody around ‘cause she can’t let ‘em see her when she’s down
And then she gets to crawlin’ up the walls, wondering why they beg her never to call.
Leavin’ her once again to sleep alone, leavin’ her lost on her way home
If she don’t let it out, it might eat her away
But her anger brings dark results
She could just die, but she’s not dead.
Some nights she’s just so fucking fine.
If she ever leaves this world alive, she’ll take all the sadness she leaves behind,
‘cause though her truth may vary, her heart never does.
And even with everything falling down around her,
She still believes in the possibilities.
Be As - Prozzäk
Completely forgot I never posted this.
I am a puppy.
I do not know many things.
But I know you.
You are my friend.
When I didn’t know things that puppies don’t know, you taught me.
You taught me that barking is fun, that food is good, and that more food is really good.
So I like you.
Because you are my friend.
When my tummy growled and my eyes opened, I did not see you.
I did not know where you went, because you did not tell me.
But that’s okay: I’ll find you.
Because you are my friend.
When I looked in the grass near the big scary tree, I did not find you (though I did go pee).
I don’t think you’re near, but I bet you’re not far.
I’m pretty sure I can feel you.
Because you are my friend.
When I thought for a very long time, I think I knew where’d you be.
You loved to play, and always wanted to fly away.
So I’ll go flying too, ‘cause I wanna be just like you.
Because you are my friend.
When I ran until my puppy paws ached, I found a cliff near the bright blue sea.
I just knew this had the spot where you’d fly away from me.
So ready or not I’m coming to get you.
Because, no matter how scary it may be,
You are my friend.
And I’m yours too.
Wolves Without Teeth - Of Monsters And Men
Was out for a bit.
Plan to have more Emarosa up in the next couple days.
In the interim…
It all happened quite by accident.
I glanced at you, and you didn’t look away.
With moonlight caught in your tangles,
I felt for a moment as though I’d never been broken.
It’s never the same and I’m never sure.
Sometimes I think it might be best if we forget before we dwell on it,
But your fingers cross mine as you call bullshit on my lies.
The two of us can’t believe a word I say.
I’ve locked myself in a guarded vault, and I cannot understand how you got in.
Even so, there’s still so much I haven’t told you.
I think I’m a bad, bad person. But you think I might be worth it.
And we’re dancing.
I can’t rest with your words so fresh on my mind,
it still begging to know why your scent–a warm bar on a cold winter’s night–won’t leave me.
Our hands meet beneath the table, your whisper stilling my heart.
Where do you take my fear?
Sometimes I wander, unable to find my way.
Trying to fix pieces that never quite fit.
You steal me away to hidden corners, secreting kisses when you think no one’s looking.
‘cause we think we’re so different from all the rest.
Sometimes it feels like running from wolves,
Seeking where once our bodies lay.
And at this moment, you think you’re alone.
But you somehow always forget–though you taught me so well: you’re bigger on the inside.
How to Be Dead - Snow Patrol
Been working on some revisions to Emarosa.
Want to post the revisions, and maybe a new chapter by the end of November.
Dedicating NaNoWriMo to fixing up and finally finishing up Emarosa.
Words weave ideas, opinions, imagination. There’s always so much to say.
But in speaking, so much more is lost.
The ideas left unspoken, opinions never expressed. Imaginations left unshaped.
There’s an old saying, that we see the world not as it is, but as we are…
I found myself obscured beneath a cascade of leaves and branch-y limbs.
It’s the sort of place you’d love to get lost in, even though you always hated the idea of being lost.
Tree stalks larger than giants stretched as arms from the Earth, as if to accompany an early morning yawn.
This is where the fairytales roam, I imagine.
The steady flow of a not-so-babbly brook trickled along with the critch-crunching of leaves beneath my clumsy shoes.
Places like this aren’t meant for shoes.
Speckled rays of sunlight blitz to and fro through the leafy canopy, as if to guide the way before a fall breeze reminds that a sweater would’ve been a fine choice.
Of course, I think you would’ve suggested a jacket.
A fine wool one with buttons much too large for their little cut-outs.
Chipmunks, watching my gargantuan feet clomp along, scurry as I try to catch a glance.
I can never tell if they’re scared or just looking for a good game of hide and go seek.
I think you’d tell me it’s both. I’d reply it’s neither. We’d bicker the afternoon away, like old times.
We’re not that old to be having old times, though in this place you could hardly tell.
They sometimes say that life is a story. They sometimes say it’s a song.
Some insist that it’s everything in between, and more still say it’s nothing at all.
I don’t know enough to know what any of it is, or means, or if it even matters.
I think used to pretend, but the squirrels play, the birds chirp, the fish… fish.
As I lie down to stare at nothing in particular, to waste the afternoon away,
all I wonder is what you’d have say.
It’s been a while. For a lot of things.
No amount of excuses would be worth wasting your time or mine.
Instead, let’s celebrate the reverie and continue the dream.
The site is mostly back, although I haven’t finished debugging some of the lingering minor issues that came up with migration.
Short of the long: old VPS host was great for many years, but had to take some time for itself.
We parted well, and the old-new host has taken over the reigns (funny story, ask me some time).
For what matters you can see the stuff, so all’s well.
Things you might want to know:
– Bards’ thrice. I swear I haven’t forgotten about it, although by all means never accuse me of being able to hold to a deadline.
I’m an irresponsible writer, and you’re welcome to mail me the most horrible of things that aren’t either: a) infectious, or b) explosive.
Bards’ the third has an entirely drafted outline, but it needs much love and attention to be something people should hear.
I aim to start with the pretty parts around the New Year, and we’ll go from there.
I’ve also released Dustland Requiem for free through all eBook formats
(although Amazon hasn’t yet reduced the price).
If you’d like a free kindle copy, let me know.
– Emarosa. It stopped at part six (of eight fleshed out sections, five more drafted).
This is because the story started going into a very different direction than intended, and while that’s normally a treat, there’s a much larger arc in the works that it needs to fit into.
It’s gone from a short story to a full project, but will be deferred until the Bards’ triquel is complete.
Moving on, I’m changing the blog format a bit:
– No more posting poetry masquerading as anything other than the freewrite of a passing muse.
– Stuff worth writing, but not posting in its own section (see “passing muse” comment) will go here, into the main blog, instead.
You deserve updates that actually say something, and if you’re not in the mood for something lengthy, come back whenever you are. It’ll be here.
Unrelated note: yesterday/today (I’m sketchy on the exact date) is my 10 year work anniversary. Is that awesome, scary, completely irrelevant? I have no idea.
“Nothing to Say”
I have nothing to say.
Nothing at all.
Even in the writing there’s but wasted space.
But isn’t unused space all the more wasted?
My first memory is playing on a train set much larger than me.
Unaccompanied, not unlike baggage, in a echo-y basement.
No thought of feeling bad, or lonely, or anything at all–it was the default.
Kindred to the spider born creeping along the cracks of a home unwanting.
Were that memory to wane, would I be any less “me” than I’ve ever been?
Where is the defining line?
Black Balloon - The Goo Goo Dolls
It’s been far too long without an update, though to be completely honest–not much to say lately.
Been enjoying much quality time with the family, and truly it’s been a treat.
No updates on Emarosa right now, but I’ve by no means forgotten about it.
Ran into some plot issues that need to be straightened out before anymore should be posted.
With regards to Bards the third, quite a bit has drafted, but I won’t have time to give it proper attention until I finish up with school this year.
Go Get Your Gun - The Dear Hunter
Good news everyone!
Everything except the videos are up and running (and those will be fixed soon enough).
If you have any suggestions for improvements or things you’d like to see, please feel free to sound off in the comments.
On a side note, received a kind note from the ever charming Neil Gaiman (care of his lovely assistant Cat Mihos) thanking me for some neat things I sent him and his wife from Afghanistan.
Good karma makes the world go round.
New Emarosa, 6. Her Lineage, posted.