Thunder
Rumble
Rumble
Sigh
Pitter
pat
pat
pat pat
pitter
pat
Groan
Growl
Pitter
pat
pat pat
CRACK
Shuddershake
Roar
Rumble
Rumble
CRACK
Rumble
ROAR
Rush whush
PAT pat pat
patter pitter pat
Shhhhhhhhhh
Rush
CRACK
Shake shudder tremble
Just give me one more
Shhhhhh
Pat
Pat
Pat
Pitter pat pat pat pat
Pat pitter pat
God
CRACK
Rock rock shake
Shudder
Rumble
Rumble
Groan
Screech
POUNCE
Take take
Pit
patter
pat
pitter pat
Mumble rumble
Away, aw –
Shhhhhhh
Pat
Pat
Pat
Sigh
rumble
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
All I Can Give
All I Can Give
Rebecca Jordan
I love the earth
So she said,
Hear my heartbeat.
I press chest and cheek to soft
impressionable
musky soil, millions of moments in the making.
This is not the earth’s heart,
but mine,
thudding against it.
Yes, but that’s what a first-tried lover would say,
reflecting in sweat-dampened sheets,
reveling in his own flesh.
I still feel my own heart.
Give it to me.
Give? It is the only thing of mine I have. Do not take it from me.
Give it to me.
Sunlight is not allowed here,
jealous sentries of trees letting it through when it suits them.
Perfume of rotting decay is welcome here,
where things grow out of it.
Cool, moist earth soaks into my skin, damp and worm,
but even that is not mine.
I only have my heart,
not even a sound
to ground me
but the vague recollection that somewhere nearby
there must be water using the land as a
private temple.
-
Rebecca Jordan
I love the earth
So she said,
Hear my heartbeat.
I press chest and cheek to soft
impressionable
musky soil, millions of moments in the making.
This is not the earth’s heart,
but mine,
thudding against it.
Yes, but that’s what a first-tried lover would say,
reflecting in sweat-dampened sheets,
reveling in his own flesh.
I still feel my own heart.
Give it to me.
Give? It is the only thing of mine I have. Do not take it from me.
Give it to me.
Sunlight is not allowed here,
jealous sentries of trees letting it through when it suits them.
Perfume of rotting decay is welcome here,
where things grow out of it.
Cool, moist earth soaks into my skin, damp and worm,
but even that is not mine.
I only have my heart,
not even a sound
to ground me
but the vague recollection that somewhere nearby
there must be water using the land as a
private temple.
-
-
I have given her my heart without knowing it,
as I lay between
soft mounds of earth like thighs,
between awake and asleep.
This is all I know.
I have given her my heart.
I hear her heart in me and around me, like she promised.
The promise of life persists,
amongst other promises she does not care to make,
amongst promises she refuses to give or breaks.
It is a slow primal beat,
with days,
months.
decades
between.
Decay between.
Her limbs find home on me.
Tickle of flies’ legs that lay their eggs on me,
Brush of cold nose
like polished stone
or whiskers searching for sustenance in me,
Grass and fungus
stretching
and moaning
possessively
thrillingly thrilled
around me
like blood
or flesh.
Her heart roots me, for I no longer have my own, and
I need
something to beat.
When they find me
let them say
The Earth has swallowed me whole.
A Sonnet For You
This poem is going under rights for Images, the literary magazine on my campus. It'll b e back up when I get rights back! YAY! Happy dance!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Freak
I've just added a new author to the blog - author of soon-to-be-published novel Freak, Katie Barrett. Let's all give 'er a hand folks! You can find the blog to the novel here: freakiverse.blogspot.com . Check it out :)
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Shameless Salesmanship
I'm taking advantage of Amazon Associates - which means that if I put a link here, and you buy a book because of it, I get moneys :) Don't worry, though. I wouldn't ever take advantage of your readership by promoting books I didn't believe in.
Which is why I'm starting out with a list of books I've read this past year which are worth your while!
Number one: Interview with a Vampire. NOT your average vampire book. I truly believe Anne Rice is a genius. Written in first person, it chronicles the life of Louis, a nineteenth-century plantation owner who is faced with a difficult choice - and must therefore live with the consequences. Truly, one of my favorite books there is out there. If you read a single book this summer, read this one.
Number two: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close - Jonathan Safran Foer. Read this one for a class, and I think it's an essential read for -anyone- in this modern age. Its main character, a nine-year-old boy, frankly and unabashedly deals with grief and unanswerable questions that come with it. Hilarious and tear-jerking, I give you half an hour of reading before you want to throw the book against the wall (to quote my dear Prof. O'Dougherty) - not because it is a terrible book but because it holds a mirror to your confusingly condemnable spirit and emotions and makes you face yourself. Oh, and it'll make you laugh. A LOT. Buy it :)
On to bigger and better things. I'm finally going to finish Gaiman's American Gods this summer. Honest. Not only because it offers little hints and tips on how to write about gods when nobody believes in them (a huge theme in my current work-in-progress) but because it's just damn good. Filled with mystery and self-searching. I can't wait to finish it :)
Okay folks. Enough advertising. On to the impossible task of outlining. After beginning yesterday, I regretably came to the conclusion that one of my newest, but no less dear, characters had to be cut. Brevity is the soul of wit, so they say (You-know-who), and if that's true I must be among the most witless.
Cheers. Updates on progress forthcoming.
Which is why I'm starting out with a list of books I've read this past year which are worth your while!
Number one: Interview with a Vampire. NOT your average vampire book. I truly believe Anne Rice is a genius. Written in first person, it chronicles the life of Louis, a nineteenth-century plantation owner who is faced with a difficult choice - and must therefore live with the consequences. Truly, one of my favorite books there is out there. If you read a single book this summer, read this one.
Number two: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close - Jonathan Safran Foer. Read this one for a class, and I think it's an essential read for -anyone- in this modern age. Its main character, a nine-year-old boy, frankly and unabashedly deals with grief and unanswerable questions that come with it. Hilarious and tear-jerking, I give you half an hour of reading before you want to throw the book against the wall (to quote my dear Prof. O'Dougherty) - not because it is a terrible book but because it holds a mirror to your confusingly condemnable spirit and emotions and makes you face yourself. Oh, and it'll make you laugh. A LOT. Buy it :)
On to bigger and better things. I'm finally going to finish Gaiman's American Gods this summer. Honest. Not only because it offers little hints and tips on how to write about gods when nobody believes in them (a huge theme in my current work-in-progress) but because it's just damn good. Filled with mystery and self-searching. I can't wait to finish it :)
Okay folks. Enough advertising. On to the impossible task of outlining. After beginning yesterday, I regretably came to the conclusion that one of my newest, but no less dear, characters had to be cut. Brevity is the soul of wit, so they say (You-know-who), and if that's true I must be among the most witless.
Cheers. Updates on progress forthcoming.
Getting Active
And not just in the physical sense.
I recently bought some books and references on writing that are in the mail, but yesterday I bought two magazines geared toward writers (especially aspiring/struggling writers). So you can now find me on writing.com :) (username: tenmuses). Awaiting approval for one more site. But I shall post some interesting things here, i.e. one dream that rather amused me.
Dream:
Our scene opens on a church courtyard, where a loud three-person pirate crew manning a replica pirate ship, complete with wheels in the absense of water, rolls in and begins to demand audience attention. Of course, the attention is granted, in which case the pirates begin to drag audience members onto the ship to start swabbing the decks! In any case, it's a hilarious and compelling crew of swashbucklers who end up winning the hearts of onlookers. Somewhere in the middle of the show one of the pirates shouts "Where's Swabby! Where's that son-of-a-bilge rat?" And, right on que, a rather large rat scampers onstage. "Swabby ol' boy!" The trained rat takes a bow, delighting the audience with his rodentine antics. After some banter he goes on to scamper up some poor audience member's leg. "Swabby!" cries one of the pirates. "Careful, now! Don't get fresh, or I'll toss you overboard."
...Anyways.
Last night's dream I shan't divulge because it is more heartbreaking than I have effort to deal with, but needless to say I've been having particularly plotted dreams recently and don't think I don't steal from my subconscious for story ideas :)
Peace.
I recently bought some books and references on writing that are in the mail, but yesterday I bought two magazines geared toward writers (especially aspiring/struggling writers). So you can now find me on writing.com :) (username: tenmuses). Awaiting approval for one more site. But I shall post some interesting things here, i.e. one dream that rather amused me.
Dream:
Our scene opens on a church courtyard, where a loud three-person pirate crew manning a replica pirate ship, complete with wheels in the absense of water, rolls in and begins to demand audience attention. Of course, the attention is granted, in which case the pirates begin to drag audience members onto the ship to start swabbing the decks! In any case, it's a hilarious and compelling crew of swashbucklers who end up winning the hearts of onlookers. Somewhere in the middle of the show one of the pirates shouts "Where's Swabby! Where's that son-of-a-bilge rat?" And, right on que, a rather large rat scampers onstage. "Swabby ol' boy!" The trained rat takes a bow, delighting the audience with his rodentine antics. After some banter he goes on to scamper up some poor audience member's leg. "Swabby!" cries one of the pirates. "Careful, now! Don't get fresh, or I'll toss you overboard."
...Anyways.
Last night's dream I shan't divulge because it is more heartbreaking than I have effort to deal with, but needless to say I've been having particularly plotted dreams recently and don't think I don't steal from my subconscious for story ideas :)
Peace.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The False Amen...Chapter 1.
I am a vampire. I drink blood to survive. I drink blood because I love it. Because I am addicted to it. My body is dead, and perpetually alive. A reanimated corpse. I see things humans don’t see. I hear what they don’t, I feel what they don’t. I don’t feel anything. I am empty. An empty vessel waiting for some passing spirit to give my unlife meaning.
“At some point every vampire has these thoughts, Sister,” I say in perfect Castilian Spanish, leaning casually against the doorframe examining my fingernails. I’ve been with my companion for three days and it’s agonizing how slowly she is adjusting, as if she were doing it simply to spite me. I glance at the pathetic weeping form on the carpet, covering her face with her shaky hands. Was I ever so low as that? I vaguely remember it but, nonetheless, I am glad beyond measure I am a monster now without remorse. It’s less painful this way, and by far more fun.
A long, sobbing moan escapes Celestina’s lips, and she clutches the fabric of her dress at her stomach as if she were plagued with a human sickness. “I c-can’t,” she gasps, unable to look at me through her red eyes. Unlike my accent, hers is less refined, more mestiza. “I c-can’t do this, p-please change me back. Please, I b-beg you.”
“Change you back?” My gold eyes sparkle, flashing with mirth and contempt. “My dear, once your soul is marked with eternal damnation there is no going back.” She wails again, a pitiful sound that is more dog than vampire. That wail can only come from someone religious, I’ve learned in the past. I smirk a little. My religion is now hers. “Come now, pick yourself up. We can have fun, Sister. I’ll fetch you a young fresh maid, yes? I know you like them.”
I think I struck a chord somewhere deep in her soul that transcends her self-loathing. She glares at me hatefully, her dark brown hair matted to her face with tears. “No,” she hisses hoarsely through her choked voice. I roll my eyes and stroll casually to the other side of the room, where I find a bottle of wine and start pouring us both a glass. The swirl of the amber red in the crystal is intoxicating in itself. If only the alcohol could touch my body like it does humans…Alcohol and sex are really the only things I miss. Oh sure, I can still partake of them both…but they fail to give me what they once did.
I turn casually around and glance at Celestina, who has stood and who has been speaking to me while I was lost in my careless reverie. “I won’t,” she was saying firmly. It’s this spunky spirit I’ve fallen in a trance with, so to speak. She cares for things more than a vampire should, but she also cares for things more than a human should. “There has to be another way. I c-could…I could drink from animals. I don’t care if it’s not as good, I – ”
I cut her off with a sharp laugh, halfway between a bark of derision and light, giggling wind chimes. If I had a ducat for every time someone has said that to me… “Darling, animal blood will not sustain you.” I lean against the table, swirling the wine in the glass in my hand, my focus diverted. She poses no threat to me; she is just a fledgling and will soon learn. “Besides, who said you had a choice in what you drank?” I give her a wicked grin, my fangs showing over my blood-red lips as I delicately sip, as if at a dinner ball. “Oh, worry not. I’ll start you off slowly. We can have dinner guests; you like to entertain, don’t you?” She is literally shaking, her fists clenched at her sides, her dress nothing short of rags on her pretty form.
“How can you…How can you just not care!” Her voice has reached a tense high squeak of indignation. The words do not bother me in the slightest. “These are people with lives, and homes, and…” She cannot continue, falling instead into sobs and turning away to hide her face in her hands again, her shoulders shaking. I realize she is probably speaking from experience. She vaguely mentioned a young son when I first took her several days ago, but hasn’t told me her story. I am glad; I do not want to hear it. Some pathetic excuse for not acting as her nature should accord.
I let the silence ring, peppered with those wails jerked from human experience, and then push myself from the table and set down the wine, walking silently across the floorboards, and over the mangled corpse on the ground (thanks to Celestina’s bloodrage – a thing which I warned her about casually), and put my arms around her. She twitches but, as usual for people with outstanding courage, is frozen in fear at my touch. “Hush,” I whisper into her ear. “This weeping will do you no good.” She sways on her feet, trying not to lean into my arms. “Relax.” I brush some of the matted hair out of her face as she shakes more violently than the London Bridge. I realize now why I got rid of that cat I had. Too much work. Ah, but it will be interesting teaching her the ways of our life... “Why don’t you go lie down in your room, hmm?” Silently, she nods and pulls away from me, staggering towards the lopsided doorframe leading from the living room to the bedroom of her hovel. I turn from her and push my black hair back, tucking it into a long black knot at the back of my black tapestry bodice. She is not the least of my worries, but I certainly am not going to fret over her. There are bigger fish to fry. I look down at our unhappy guest and quickly heft him up over my shoulder and walk to the edge of the small village, dumping him amongst the foliage. He’ll be found in a few days, but by that time I hope to have Celestina out of here. It doesn’t do for her to see her relatives or friends. Soon she will be a cold-blooded killer like me, and that is what I want.
“At some point every vampire has these thoughts, Sister,” I say in perfect Castilian Spanish, leaning casually against the doorframe examining my fingernails. I’ve been with my companion for three days and it’s agonizing how slowly she is adjusting, as if she were doing it simply to spite me. I glance at the pathetic weeping form on the carpet, covering her face with her shaky hands. Was I ever so low as that? I vaguely remember it but, nonetheless, I am glad beyond measure I am a monster now without remorse. It’s less painful this way, and by far more fun.
A long, sobbing moan escapes Celestina’s lips, and she clutches the fabric of her dress at her stomach as if she were plagued with a human sickness. “I c-can’t,” she gasps, unable to look at me through her red eyes. Unlike my accent, hers is less refined, more mestiza. “I c-can’t do this, p-please change me back. Please, I b-beg you.”
“Change you back?” My gold eyes sparkle, flashing with mirth and contempt. “My dear, once your soul is marked with eternal damnation there is no going back.” She wails again, a pitiful sound that is more dog than vampire. That wail can only come from someone religious, I’ve learned in the past. I smirk a little. My religion is now hers. “Come now, pick yourself up. We can have fun, Sister. I’ll fetch you a young fresh maid, yes? I know you like them.”
I think I struck a chord somewhere deep in her soul that transcends her self-loathing. She glares at me hatefully, her dark brown hair matted to her face with tears. “No,” she hisses hoarsely through her choked voice. I roll my eyes and stroll casually to the other side of the room, where I find a bottle of wine and start pouring us both a glass. The swirl of the amber red in the crystal is intoxicating in itself. If only the alcohol could touch my body like it does humans…Alcohol and sex are really the only things I miss. Oh sure, I can still partake of them both…but they fail to give me what they once did.
I turn casually around and glance at Celestina, who has stood and who has been speaking to me while I was lost in my careless reverie. “I won’t,” she was saying firmly. It’s this spunky spirit I’ve fallen in a trance with, so to speak. She cares for things more than a vampire should, but she also cares for things more than a human should. “There has to be another way. I c-could…I could drink from animals. I don’t care if it’s not as good, I – ”
I cut her off with a sharp laugh, halfway between a bark of derision and light, giggling wind chimes. If I had a ducat for every time someone has said that to me… “Darling, animal blood will not sustain you.” I lean against the table, swirling the wine in the glass in my hand, my focus diverted. She poses no threat to me; she is just a fledgling and will soon learn. “Besides, who said you had a choice in what you drank?” I give her a wicked grin, my fangs showing over my blood-red lips as I delicately sip, as if at a dinner ball. “Oh, worry not. I’ll start you off slowly. We can have dinner guests; you like to entertain, don’t you?” She is literally shaking, her fists clenched at her sides, her dress nothing short of rags on her pretty form.
“How can you…How can you just not care!” Her voice has reached a tense high squeak of indignation. The words do not bother me in the slightest. “These are people with lives, and homes, and…” She cannot continue, falling instead into sobs and turning away to hide her face in her hands again, her shoulders shaking. I realize she is probably speaking from experience. She vaguely mentioned a young son when I first took her several days ago, but hasn’t told me her story. I am glad; I do not want to hear it. Some pathetic excuse for not acting as her nature should accord.
I let the silence ring, peppered with those wails jerked from human experience, and then push myself from the table and set down the wine, walking silently across the floorboards, and over the mangled corpse on the ground (thanks to Celestina’s bloodrage – a thing which I warned her about casually), and put my arms around her. She twitches but, as usual for people with outstanding courage, is frozen in fear at my touch. “Hush,” I whisper into her ear. “This weeping will do you no good.” She sways on her feet, trying not to lean into my arms. “Relax.” I brush some of the matted hair out of her face as she shakes more violently than the London Bridge. I realize now why I got rid of that cat I had. Too much work. Ah, but it will be interesting teaching her the ways of our life... “Why don’t you go lie down in your room, hmm?” Silently, she nods and pulls away from me, staggering towards the lopsided doorframe leading from the living room to the bedroom of her hovel. I turn from her and push my black hair back, tucking it into a long black knot at the back of my black tapestry bodice. She is not the least of my worries, but I certainly am not going to fret over her. There are bigger fish to fry. I look down at our unhappy guest and quickly heft him up over my shoulder and walk to the edge of the small village, dumping him amongst the foliage. He’ll be found in a few days, but by that time I hope to have Celestina out of here. It doesn’t do for her to see her relatives or friends. Soon she will be a cold-blooded killer like me, and that is what I want.
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