Ambition does not run in my veins

I'm not an ambitious person. I'm likely far too content with my lot in life. Hence the ease of giving up on writing the novel. The bits and pieces don't mesh smoothly enough in all likelihood anyhow. However, that leaves the problem of all these story fragments still floating in my head. Well, I may've found sometin to sate many of my appetites, the writing included. The idea I proposed to my friend was likely not taken to seriously, but it has potential methinks. Might require ambition though, that means I'll need to think on it a lot more first. Oh and I'm headin to a place where I can learn languages I'm interested in, it's so nice :) (at least in theory anyhow, the beast may return and feast upon the organs of yet another poorly engineered plan)

Take a ride on the darker side...

So, this here is a re-writing of some earlier prose that I now find rather disturbing. Plus I've never thought it was particularly well written. Disturbances aside, it's always sounded like a wonderful inspiration...

The thing pulled itself out of the rift, brushing off the tendrils of shadowstuff that threatened to pull it back to whence it came. The mishapen gnarl of flesh began shaping itself. Slowly, arms, legs, an entire human body was standing naked in the back alley of city unfortunate enough to have this evil. The form shuddered and was suddenly clothed as any ordinary person might be. Walking from its hiding place, the thing went out into the world, learning of its ways, perfecting its disguise. Weeks later, a merchant convoy was being held up. The thieves were about to dispatch the civilians, when one of their lookouts let a bloodcurdling noise from his lips that spoke of unimaginable agony. Terrified, the bandits dropped everything and began running. Everytime one left the sight of the merchants, a spray of blood was seen and the same hellish noise issued from the poor soul's lips. As an eerie quiet settled in, a man covered in blood from head to toe approached the merchants. As one rose to express his thanks for being saved, the man's hand glowed black, and he tore the merchant open as though having claws of a great beast.

“I am not your saviour: I am the butcher come forth from styx. I am wrath incarnate come to visit death upon your lands. I come to bring terror. I come to kill and destroy. I come to feast upon your flesh. I send unrest before me, wield agony in my right hand and leave slaughter in my wake.”

By the time he had finished saying all this, not a soul was alive to atest that he had and the ground was bathed in blood. When travelers found the sight of this horror, the only sign of why it happened were 3 words, painted in blood on the side of a wagon.

“I am Erythnul.”

So, there's the macabre, please do comment, even if it is on the stability of my remaining sanity (the existence of which is in question)

Older schtuff

This is an older poem, it's got rhythm to it, and I had music for it at one point.

EDIT: it's not displaying quite properly but it's all there.

The River Town

down down to the river folk town
where it's up-side-in and in-side-down
it's where they live and where we drown
down down in river folk town

well a bonnie young lass went out to the bank
and in a thick fancy dress she went an' sank
she sank on down to the murkiest depths
to where she drew no more her breaths
well the river folk sent her lover a note
through a net to his fishin boat
well the note did say an say it well
“Stay away from our river or you'll go to hell!”

down down to the river folk town
where it's up-side-in and in-side-down
it's where they live and where we drown
down down in river folk town

Curse you fell creature!

Reality hath reared it's ugly head all too much recently and now it lunges towards my writing. Writing cowers before it, pleading, sparing no thought for dignity or honor, only it's life. The beast slows, and finally stops, inches away from Writing, it's great maw dripping with the rot and decay of numerous other escapes. Suddenly, it lunges for Writing, but when it withdraws it's fearsome head, Writing is still intact, though injured. Umm, yeah, dunno where that came from but the story is sticking, I'm just having to overhaul the origins a lot which is fine as they were never carved in pixels anyhow.

I think I got it

I've had concepts for a story running through my head since roughly the beginning of my freshmen year. A few days ago I think I found a way to tie all the concepts in and actually start the story. None of the concepts I'd thought up had dealt with origins at all so I was at a loss till this point on how to start it. So, I guess I'm just typin this here cus I"m kinda happy about it.

Up she goes

Obviously I don't write much on here, but I've gone through a period of rediscovering the internets, so here's a poem I wrote today, I may alter it at a later date.

Heaven's Lemmings

Quick, the call has gone out
Join your brethren in their pilgrimmage
They run, run, run to the edge
Jump, Fly, Fall
Fall with a beauty all their own
Racing, rushing, headlong down
they come to give their lives
bringing them from the grey sunlit plains
bringing them to all
bringing them so that all may live
their end comes
it is hard, harsh, unforgiving
splat, splatter, splat
the call fades
enough lives were given
and their souls rise up into the air
red, orange and yellow
green, blue, violet and indigo
another rain has fallen

Here's the next one

A Smile

A smile, weak and frail
Beside the warmth that you've shown me
This smile will always pale
With times so good and times so bad
I've never felt so very sad
No time left, no time to kill
I never wrote my living will
I'll make it up to you someday
That's what I'd hope that I would say
If I were near you, away from the hail