This is basically some random crap I wrote down last night that turned into lyrics of some kind, I really have no idea.
Things are moving
Too fast for the eyes to see
They spin around me
In a blaze of purple wings
You say they saved you
When life was a precious thing
Well I got lost
Found a way outside this maze
The turntable slows
The music knows
How to kill my darkest deeds
The music stops
The future drops
In the pool of darkest needs
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Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Spring Uprising
This is a short horror story I wrote a few weeks ago. I already posted it on DeviantArt but I figured I'd put it on here too. Hope you enjoy it, any comments/suggestions are always welcome.
Every afternoon Shiram Nofason mowed his backyard. It wasn’t a large yard, even though Shiram owned acres of fields that could have been mowed. Unfortunately he was old and no longer had the strength or the will to mow those green fields. But Shiram did not despair. Instead his yard consisted of less than an acre of soft green grass, with a large pine tree in the middle. It sat secluded with trees on all sides, the shadows deep and soft.
Shiram used an old John Deere push mower to cut his grass every day. He had done this every day for twenty years. Some people might find it strange and a bit obsessive to mow their lawn every day, but to Shiram it was an irreplaceable part of his daily existence.
This particular afternoon was in late May, a beautiful and bright spring day. The light wind was rustling all the leaves and making the branches of Shiram’s enormous pine sway as if in a trance, a lazy spring trance. Shiram looked out over his small yard. What he saw surprised him. It seemed that overnight the grass had been overrun by large, bright yellow dandelions. He frowned and then smiled. Today’s cutting would be even better. He pushed the green and yellow mower from his small garage to the edge of the grass and pulled out the choke reverently. He took the worn pull string in his fist and pulled the cord calmly yet strongly in one continuous motion. As always, the little mower began its rough hum immediately.
Shiram pushed out onto the grass. He walked slowly, allowing the old blades to do their work. In a few meters he came to a dense patch of dandelions and smiled as he began to push even more slowly over them. Shiram thought he could hear them screaming as the chute on the side of the mower began to spit out their yellow heads. Humming along to the rhythm of the mower, he continued in a straight line down the edge of the yard, walking through the shade of the pine tree and rounding the first corner. He would continue in this manner, the square of uncut grass in the center becoming smaller and smaller as he went.
On his third time around the square, Shiram noticed something about the dandelions. They were changing. The yellow heads closed and then opened to reveal fluffy white heads of seeds. The wind picked off pieces of this soft fluff and blew it around the yard and elsewhere.
"Spreading their seed!" Shiram muttered to himself and began to pick up his pace. The small yard was only half-mowed as the white stuff began to slowly blow about. As Shiram began to walk faster, the wind picked up. What had been a gentle zephyr earlier turned into a blustery breeze. Growling under his breath, Shiram moved forward as bits of fluff blew by him. Pieces of it hit his clothes and stuck. He got to the tree and began mowing in a circle around it, then turned and went straight into the middle of the yard where the largest crowds of the yellow flowers remained. Now the wind was a full gale. A cloud of white seed flew at him. Shiram put his hands up to block it, but pieces got by and flew in his mouth and eyes. He let go off the mower and rubbed his hands over his face to get the stuff off, but to no avail. It was too silky and difficult to grasp.
Shiram started to cough. The wind blew all around him as he tried to bat the downy white scourge away. More and more of the dandelions closed their yellow heads and then exploded in small white bursts. Shiram fell to his knees as the white swarmed towards him, on him, over him. He began to choke, his throat clogged with silk. The seeds were covering him; they were alive! He felt pain in his right arm, which he had been using to shield his face. He reached and pulled out a seed, red with his blood. Shiram opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a choked cough that sounded like rotten fleece being forcing through his windpipe.
Shiram fell prostrate to the ground, still waving his arms like a windmill gone mad. The wind howled around him and the pine tree shook its great arms in anguish. The seeds fully covered the old man now, his outline white and stark against the green grass, and they began to burrow into him, germinating themselves in his warmth. Shiram writhed one last time and then lay still. Dark green dandelion leaves sprouted out of him, unfurling themselves in the wind. Light green stems rose quickly into the air and finally, in perfect unison, a thousand yellow heads popped open in the light. The wind immediately stilled back to a gentle breeze. The pine tree relaxed and began its spring trance again. Dandelion heads looked at one another and smiled.
If you like my writing please subscribe to my blog
Every afternoon Shiram Nofason mowed his backyard. It wasn’t a large yard, even though Shiram owned acres of fields that could have been mowed. Unfortunately he was old and no longer had the strength or the will to mow those green fields. But Shiram did not despair. Instead his yard consisted of less than an acre of soft green grass, with a large pine tree in the middle. It sat secluded with trees on all sides, the shadows deep and soft.
Shiram used an old John Deere push mower to cut his grass every day. He had done this every day for twenty years. Some people might find it strange and a bit obsessive to mow their lawn every day, but to Shiram it was an irreplaceable part of his daily existence.
This particular afternoon was in late May, a beautiful and bright spring day. The light wind was rustling all the leaves and making the branches of Shiram’s enormous pine sway as if in a trance, a lazy spring trance. Shiram looked out over his small yard. What he saw surprised him. It seemed that overnight the grass had been overrun by large, bright yellow dandelions. He frowned and then smiled. Today’s cutting would be even better. He pushed the green and yellow mower from his small garage to the edge of the grass and pulled out the choke reverently. He took the worn pull string in his fist and pulled the cord calmly yet strongly in one continuous motion. As always, the little mower began its rough hum immediately.
Shiram pushed out onto the grass. He walked slowly, allowing the old blades to do their work. In a few meters he came to a dense patch of dandelions and smiled as he began to push even more slowly over them. Shiram thought he could hear them screaming as the chute on the side of the mower began to spit out their yellow heads. Humming along to the rhythm of the mower, he continued in a straight line down the edge of the yard, walking through the shade of the pine tree and rounding the first corner. He would continue in this manner, the square of uncut grass in the center becoming smaller and smaller as he went.
On his third time around the square, Shiram noticed something about the dandelions. They were changing. The yellow heads closed and then opened to reveal fluffy white heads of seeds. The wind picked off pieces of this soft fluff and blew it around the yard and elsewhere.
"Spreading their seed!" Shiram muttered to himself and began to pick up his pace. The small yard was only half-mowed as the white stuff began to slowly blow about. As Shiram began to walk faster, the wind picked up. What had been a gentle zephyr earlier turned into a blustery breeze. Growling under his breath, Shiram moved forward as bits of fluff blew by him. Pieces of it hit his clothes and stuck. He got to the tree and began mowing in a circle around it, then turned and went straight into the middle of the yard where the largest crowds of the yellow flowers remained. Now the wind was a full gale. A cloud of white seed flew at him. Shiram put his hands up to block it, but pieces got by and flew in his mouth and eyes. He let go off the mower and rubbed his hands over his face to get the stuff off, but to no avail. It was too silky and difficult to grasp.
Shiram started to cough. The wind blew all around him as he tried to bat the downy white scourge away. More and more of the dandelions closed their yellow heads and then exploded in small white bursts. Shiram fell to his knees as the white swarmed towards him, on him, over him. He began to choke, his throat clogged with silk. The seeds were covering him; they were alive! He felt pain in his right arm, which he had been using to shield his face. He reached and pulled out a seed, red with his blood. Shiram opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a choked cough that sounded like rotten fleece being forcing through his windpipe.
Shiram fell prostrate to the ground, still waving his arms like a windmill gone mad. The wind howled around him and the pine tree shook its great arms in anguish. The seeds fully covered the old man now, his outline white and stark against the green grass, and they began to burrow into him, germinating themselves in his warmth. Shiram writhed one last time and then lay still. Dark green dandelion leaves sprouted out of him, unfurling themselves in the wind. Light green stems rose quickly into the air and finally, in perfect unison, a thousand yellow heads popped open in the light. The wind immediately stilled back to a gentle breeze. The pine tree relaxed and began its spring trance again. Dandelion heads looked at one another and smiled.
If you like my writing please subscribe to my blog
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Red Mars and Cyberpunk
I recently finished reading Red Mars, the first book of Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy and let me tell you, it's pretty damn good. The reason I wanted to get this book is really because I've become very interested in cyberpunk literature. About a year or so ago I was fortunate enough to see Rudy Rucker, author of some well-known sci-fi books such as White Light and the Ware tetralogy, give a lecture at RIT and he really got me thinking more about writing, science fiction, technology, and the world around us. I had never heard of Rucker before but I heard he was a great writer, so I had to go. He was not lecturing specifically on the topic of cyberpunk, but rather his computer science ideas of interpreting the world as deterministic equations, however he did mention his writing and that it was considered cyberpunk. Overall the lecture was very interesting and I left with a lot to think about. Afterwards I began looking up some things about cyberpunk online, what it is, what writers are involved, etc. I am a huge fan of dystopian/utopian stories so this sounded right up my alley. I obtained a copy of Red Mars as soon as I could and prepared from some great adventures. And at first I was confused. This book was supposed to be cyberpunk but the first half of it or so is mostly about scientists colonizing Mars. Not that this was boring, the way Robinson writes is very personal and gets right into the characters' heads which makes for some intense reading, but it wasn't what I expected. However in the second half when politics and violence start coming into play on the newly colonized planet, I began to understand why it is considered cyberpunk: you've got a revolution taking place on a very inhospitable planet and led by scientists who can create things such as extremely potent pharmaceutical drugs and longevity treatments. Another thing that struck me in this book is the attention that was paid to scientific and geographic details, especially the ones referring to the terraforming and colonization of Mars. I cannot wait to read the second book; this is science fiction at its best.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Telling a Story
In the beginning
I couldn't argue
So they went ahead
Unheeding
A hush fell over everything
Hunger took hold
It took forever
But things changed
I was a bit terrified
For the first time
Maybe not the first time
But it was hard
Fireflies in the fields
It was so wild
I remember now
As we go on I remember more
If you like my writing please subscribe to this blog
I couldn't argue
So they went ahead
Unheeding
A hush fell over everything
Hunger took hold
It took forever
But things changed
I was a bit terrified
For the first time
Maybe not the first time
But it was hard
Fireflies in the fields
It was so wild
I remember now
As we go on I remember more
If you like my writing please subscribe to this blog
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