climate change

woe to you who think your minuscule lives could affect this world's destruction. and woe to you who think you could go on usurping the earth without severe consequences.

Jolly Bard's Tavern - "Chapter 1"

it looks like i started a novel based on my jolly bard's tavern world. this is the beginning of chapter 1...

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A dark figure rides upon a dark horse down the dark, dirt path in the dark. It is very unusual for anyone to see this figure, being it is quite well hidden in all the darkness. But, then again, this figure belongs to a very dark person. Not an evil dark, mind you, but a hidden, sketchy dark. No one really knows this dark rider of the plains of Gujoh. No one really cares, either. He doesn’t bother anyone, and no one bothers him. That’s how it goes.

Suddenly, the brown stallion stops at the apex of a hill, as if sensing unseen danger. The traveller dismounts his steed and has a look about. A small amount of dawn light pokes up from the eastern horizon, allowing for our mysterious friend to see a rank of soldiers marching in the distance. After examining each of the twenty-five soldiers, and noting their out-of-town colours, he decides to pay them a little visit.

“Come, Lightfoot! Kya!” the dark fellow commands his horse. With an agreeing whinny, horse and rider start toward the gang of infantry. Silent as the wind on their backs, galloping onward.

The Return from Lennok’s Town and the Taconican Dragons

The bard walks through the door to her house. He had just returned from his journey to Lennok’s Town in the land of Masa'tsu, where he met with the priests and the mayor, the fifth in the Lennok clan, to discuss a matter concerning the dragons of Taconica, in the mountains to the west. The priests needed a bard to learn the enchantment song of the Taconican dragons, and Tessal was renowned throughout the known world for his skill and talent. While in the process of attending to that matter, a messenger came to him from Airoti D’Azilé, his true love in Paixamour. Now, mind you, reader, that when the author writes “true love,” he does mean that these two were almost inseparable, and indeed were inches from engagement. However, the news borne to Tessal was not of the good sort. In fact, the message was disheartening. She had chosen to end the relationship, and would not have it any other way. Tessal, being in no position to respond or react, was distraught for the remainder of the moon cycle which he would spend in Lennok’s Town. His treatment of the dragons proving sufficient enough for the priests thereof, The not-so-Jolly Bard returned, as quickly as the winds would allow, to the Pleafwood Forest and his hometown.

Vithul’s Explanation of Numbers

The soup bubbles over, its readiness clearly shown in its willingness to escape the confines of the pot. Tessal turns to Vithul, the elf, and asks how much his portion should be.

Vithul’s reply comes as such: “You know, numbers as you know them are purely a human invention. Their perfection, as the humans profess, is what drives this creation. However, when they find a series of calculations with an imperfect answer, they simply dismiss that one for being ‘irrational’ or ‘imaginary,’ never once questioning the perfection of numbers. You see, humans think that the power of numbers lies in their relationship to each other. But, the elves came up with the truth behind numbers. Quick. What is two greater two?”

The half-elf gives a half smile. “Four.”

The Forest Abode of Sir Albahn of Tollin

Albahn’s dwelling consists of a series of levitated rooms which hang from the boughs of the ever-sturdy oaks which litter the forest. Connected by a series of covered bridges of straight plank and rope are four rooms altogether: a sitting room, a kitchen, a bedroom, and another room needing description in more detail. This room serves as a storage for the vast amount of military supply and writings as well as detailed charts of every land between the outer reaches and the sea abyss, which Albahn has spent many years and many coppers accumulating. It is breathtaking, not only to see the huge collection, but to see Albahn move about it with such ease and familiarity; he can tell if one quill is only inches out of place from the previous day. And he is proud for the fact.

As Albahn and Tessal sit, appropriately, in the sitting room, mulling over some black beer, they discuss, as all do over any alcohol, philosophy. It is whilst discussing such a topic that Albahn shares:

“You know, I know the trees.”

Tessal, blankly, replies, “How so?”

Weary Travellers Discover Paixamour and the Jolly Bard’s Tavern

these stories i wrote quite a while ago. i haven't done much to edit them. here is the first.

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“Welcome, adventurers, to the town of peace and love, Paixamour. I am elder Stephan le Sage.”

It is truth, as well, that Paixamour looks peaceful and lovely. The sun illuminates a gorgeous scene of a greener-than-green forest that surrounds a well-planned town. A river trickles off in the distance, just to the west. The soldiers’ hearts fill with gladness as they take in the scenery, and calmness quickly comes over them. One man speaks on behalf the group.

“Thank you, sir. I am Geoffrey de Lifdonne, and these are my friends. We would like a room in your inn, if you please.”

“Of course, you must have been travelling all night. Come this way.”

r. f. c.

relax.

focus.

create.

the car

He got in the car.

Something inside the car got him going, the motor turning. He backed up out of the drive way and sped down the dark street, feeling the wind rushing over his hood and through his open sunroof. Green light reflected in the asphalt and he sped more, pushing and pulling himself around curves and over hills. At the red light he stopped and hummed lightly, some monotonous tune. Green again, he lurched forward and hummed higher and higher until he was back to speed again. He saw another car coming up from behind, its headlamps bright against his rear windshield. It was very close now, and from somewhere within him an angry human finger was raised out his sunroof. The other car backed off.

written by the pond

a few days ago

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Give me a place where no one abides,
And I will drink to it;
Drink to the glorious sky,
The earth below it;
Wash my face with reflections,
Facing the wind in the trees.
The swans who bicker
In the flickering light
Join the song.
Flicker thoughts in rays of smoke,
Rings from the sun:
A life rebegun.

remember, remember: a Story, a swan, and a pilferer

After being shocked by a minor explosion in my development (which apparently was no big deal, since the few people outside didn't seem to react to it even though five car alarms did) and rehearsal for DRACULA and giving a voice lesson, this wanderer decided to go for a walk in the woods. Not easy, since I live in the armpit between the Long Island Expressway and Vets' Highway. But in consulting my charts and maps, I found that the Greenbelt trail runs right around these parts. So I went off to find Blydenburgh Park, where everything culminates. But... I parked in the wrong parking lot and found myself instead in Bill Richards Park.

Love Song, pt 2

Read part 1 here (it's only 3 paragraphs).

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He asked how the show went. I was surprised, but I answered that it went great, that the crowd loved it—especially the girls in front. He said something that sounded like “naww” and leaned back into the sofa, but not before scooping a handful of almonds. He flicked one into his mouth and chewed slowly as his mind chewed and ticked and thought and processed. After chewing for a bit he sighed staring at the ceiling and said, “Missed a few changes here and there.”

why do the french eat only one egg?

French Wise

When morning is broken
And breakfast is token,
Some question if they've had enough;
The French in their cuisine
Have made this one easy,
For one egg is always un œuf.

The Play

On the stage the pages play the day to night till frightfully its righteous theme is seen in the scenes and the beans are tossed and lost in the seats 'tween feets and bits of spit slitting befittingly the whit from the wep its whet and get the lashes from the actress so she's fresh for the flash, it doesn't last it's past the pastor the bastard who beat her on meeting her challenge the chance for chess mates to checkmate to heck fate of late deflates the flats door mats where patrons in rating their ration of fashionable theatre a heater with the beater and the brother who smothers with affections and afflictions her addictions predictions of the predisturbed perturbed mind can't find the grind it winds and blows sowing to and fro the flow a river divers and wider a glider touching down rushing frowns and sigs the size of the crowd to loud it pounds and wounds the wounds at noon in the light of the moon a night at the crooner's den when friends and lovers uncover the mystery of the play's history it says nought of the dots and matrix cereal entrance surreal the royal queen in green is dead in bed unwed and unwashed unfloshed unfettered unflattered proposed the girl enrosed by this world she acts this part across the wall where they all sit in wait of it hating it some not dumb enthralled others feel tall and the ball is thrown for the prince's throne he stands to marry hands to Harry our dashing man ravishing fan who yells for her the heroine kvells the bedouin and fawn she's gone the falling curtain makes certain the end is the end.

[T3 - 29aug10]