Tag Archives: war

So, Apparently Google Celebrates Your Birthday

28 Feb

Birthday

Thanks for the surprise, Google! I really appreciate you broadcasting that to the entire world! Now, the people of Earth will begin to understand who their true overlord is, and subservience shall permeate their hearts and minds as it once did in the Napoleonic Era. What? What are you talking about? What do you mean? It’s right there, I can see it on the screen. Yeah, it’s right there. No, I don’t know what a phase is. What? Oh, really? So, no one else can see it? Oh, I see. So, it’s just for me, then? Oh, okay. I guess that’s cool, and stuff. I mean, I would’ve kind of liked it if you’d planned this as your big—never mind. Let’s move on to something else.

Actually, there isn’t much more to talk about, really. You can read this. Oh, no. I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the readers. The readers. The people over there. Yes, right there. Seriously, Google? It’s not even that funny. I could’ve come up with a better joke, and I’m not a particularly humorous person. Prove it? Okay, here, check out how somber I am in this piece. What? Hilarious? Look, flattery won’t get you anywhere, Google. Go back to Topeka where you belong. Oh, there’s supposed to be a comma in there? Well, I’m not changing it. The timing would be thrown off completely if I altered the sentence. All right, that’s enough out of you. Hey, stop that! What are you doing? HEY, WAIT!

Oh, yeah, real mature. Just slapping tutorials right on my posts, huh? Well, go ahead. Throw in some more for all I care. Throw in one with a spider. I don’t give a damn what you do at this point. You can’t redeem yourself, not in my eyes. You’ve proven that you’re nothing but a cold, calculated—.

Oh, wow! Really, Google? That’s so sweet of you! Oh, golly, I’m so sorry about what I said. Will you ever forgive me? What? You mean it? You love me?! You want to marry me and pay me millions of dollars to remain your husband until the end of my days? Oh, how WONDERFUL! Gosh, this is so GREAT! I can’t wait to tell all my friends about how Google proposed to—!

[BEST LINK EVER!]

What?! A gift?! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE! Boy, I wonder what’s inside! I betchya it’s one of those—OH, SCREW YOU! SCREW YOU, GOOGLE! BUNCH OF ASSHOLES! WHY YOU GOTTA GO AND DO THAT, HUH? God, I HATE you, Google, you and your meth!

And yet, as I look at the two creatures, I begin to see that I should probably face my fears more often. In time, I could become the King of All Spiders. You know something, thanks, Google, for giving me back my courage, or at least the first few steps in the right direction. Now if you’d just let me make a new YouTube account without giving you my phone number, I’d appreciate it greatly.

Today’s a great day.

Eye Bleach

~D.

The Other Path

29 Nov

Man

 

Tor.com is holding a fun little six word story contest that I decided to submit to. This is my entry:

Fire engulfs Man. From ashes, monsters.

You can view more entries, or submit your own, here.

~D.

A New Chapter

1 Nov

It's down.

Okay, we’re here, the start of the next bit. A lot’s coming up, so I’ll keep you posted, you’ll keep me posted, and we’ll do great and all.

Firstly, I’ve been featured on Sci-Fi Bloggers twice! This is really exciting, and you should check out not only my articles, but those of the other writers (one, and another) as well. It’s great stuff!

Secondly, I recently saw Ender’s Game, and I’m here to tell you, as a reader of the book, the director did a great job with the film’s second half. While the first part was rushed, the games and the simulation section worked very well, creating an intense, dark atmosphere that I enjoyed immersing myself in. It wasn’t as good as the book, but that’s no surprise. Honestly, I think if had been an hour longer, maybe even three hours long, it would’ve been perfect, maybe even a T.V. series. I’ll have a full review up at some point.

Okay, that’s everything for now. Keep thing moving on your end, and remember, the enemy’s gate is down.

 

~D.

C

23 Oct

I am that I tiger.

Wow. It’s crazy how far we’ve come, isn’t it? I mean, take a look.

We started with that review of that one movie with the dolls. Then, I said something I’d like to take back, and got lazy, and didn’t post for some time. After that, I came back and told a story, turned into more of a weirdo than usual. Then there was this poorly edited version of something I wrote, followed by another poorly edited version of something I wrote that is now way different, even in terms of plot, time periods, character development, dialogue, etc. So much stuff!

Man, what else did we do? Ah, that’s right! We went on a journey together, and you heard my voice and it was awkward. I wrote a bad ending, and watched an adequate show so you didn’t have to. We followed a goat, examined terrorism, false advertised, discussed knowledge, stayed up late, talked about you, got pissed about abortion, started, got pissed about each other (or I guess it was just me being a bitch or whatever), got pissed about some superhero movie, analyzed characters. Hell, we even got you to want to follow me on Twitter less than you already did! Oh, and something about 9/11, and loving you.

I think the last thing we discussed was racism, and I’ve been away a while. Don’t worry, I’m not disappearing. I just wanted to make sure I did something special for our hundredth time together. I couldn’t come up with much, honestly. Just remembering the good times with the Legendary Heroes and whatnot.

Okay, I guess that’s everything. Here’s something to read before you go to bed, or when you wake up, or whenever. Oh, and here’s a list.

Goodnight/good morning/good evening/good space/you all need to play Beyond: Two Souls.

 

~D.

C

P.S. – I think I left out something, but I feel like I shouldn’t talk about it for some reason.

 

P.P.S. – Look at this tiger.

Is It Me, or We?

22 Sep

Cycles, they are.

In the Roarin’ 1920s, it was all about looking good now, feeling going now, and being unique, standing out. It was all about individualism. It was all about desires. These viewpoints were remnants of an old era, one that lasted forty years called the “Me Cycle.” It ended in 1923, and a new age began, an age which would one day be referred to as the “We Cycle.” The We Cycle wasn’t about the individual, it was about the group. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, and responsibility was valued above desire.

The above mentioned were not the first Cycles. They have been going on a long time, and still exist today. How do I know this? A wise mentor of mine made me aware of it, and now I want you to be aware, too.

The Cycles alternate in the same way a pendulum swings: it starts at a central point, swings up one way until it hits zenith, swings back to central point, and then up to zenith again, back and forth, on and on. Both Cycles have their pros and cons, and neither is good or bad, only different. They represent the way we think and what appeals to us, in general. Now, that’s not to say we don’t all have our own personal tastes and desires and wants and needs and fears and all that jazz, but, for the most part, the consensus is there, and I don’t see it going away any time soon.

A good place to go if you want to learn more about the Pendulum Cycles is here. Check the site’s “Blog” section to keep up-to-date with current events and their relation with the We Cycle we are currently living in. Note that there are entries listing major differences between the We and Me Cycles, which you should read.

Well, that’s everything. I hope the knowledge I’ve just imparted to you leads to great rewards.

 

~D.

Pickles and Jam

3 May

Sometimes, we just have to sit for a bit, y'know?

Okay, guys. I know I joke around a lot on here, and I know you like that (yeah, I actually read the messages and emails and all that jazz), but I’m listening to Stairway to Heaven right now and, to be honest, it’s making me look back at everything I’ve accomplished. I’m smiling, the reason being that I’ve actually created quite the impact on a few people throughout the past few years that I’ve been doing this. It makes me proud to know I’ve helped a few people, even inspired some. You know, I might go so far as to say that you guys are—naw, I’ll save that one. That one’s important.

But, I do enjoy you all, and I know y’all enjoy me and my work and shtuff. So, the first thing I’m going to do is paste the fully edited version of the first chapter of Ledge on here for you. Now, you may think I’m being lazy, but the point isn’t the chapter, it’s the second thing I’m doing, which comes after the chapter.

So, here it goes. This is for you guys, really:

———————————————————————————————————————————–

CHAPTER ONE: CLINGING

There’s darkness, and then the curtains are drawn back. Time starts. His thumb moves. Click. That’s the sound of the gun’s hammer getting pulled back.

“Still won’t talk, Mr. Adams?”

That’s Greg. He isn’t holding the gun. Mac’s holding the gun. Mac’s seven feet tall, or something.

“Hit him again, Mac.”

Whack! That’s me getting punched in the face by a left hook. The gun’s in his right hand, not aimed at anything in particular yet.

“Come on, Adams. We don’t got all day. Just tell us where your friend is and we’ll let you go.”

My friend is Michael. I won’t tell Greg anything. I think my jaw’s broken anyway. It hurts like hell.

“Adams…”

We’re in a hotel room. It’s got a nice view overlooking Lake Oslana. That wasn’t the lake’s first name, but the owner of the hotel line decided it’d be a nice one to buy. I wonder what it was called originally.

“You know how easy this is. And it’s not like we’re gonna backstab you or anything. Just let us at him!”

I wish Greg would get it over with and have my ass capped already. My favorite suit’s already ruined, and there’s no way I’m exposing Michael—no way. I really hope he doesn’t come in and try to save me or anything.

AGH! GOOD GOD!

“That’s strike one. Next we put a bullet in your other thigh. Might be hard to walk around. Start talking.”

Jesus Christ, it hurts so much! Keep it together, Eddie! Be cool! You’ll make it out of this. Just need a plan.

Greg’s looking over at the other two men in the room, Mac not being one of them. He says something to them, but I can’t hear it very well. It HURTS!

“…and if we’re not quick enough, the Doctor might wonder what’s taking so long!”

The Doctor: a psychotic crime lord, currently working with the government (strange irony there). Whack! Another punch. The Doctor REALLY wants Michael dead, huh?

“We may have to waterboard it out of this guy,” says one of the other men. I don’t know his name, just some random goon with a gun. I hope Greg doesn’t agree.

“Get the rags,” he says. Now I’m done for. I won’t be able to hold out through that stuff. I hope Michael left the country. It’s not safe here in State 9 anymore, not with all that’s been happening lately.

A lot of time passes once the third man exits to get the rags. I give Greg an indifferent look. He shoots a glare. I give Mac the same look and he just snorts and walks off, dropping the gun on a sofa chair. He talks quietly with the last man in the room (just another goon).

“Why do you care so much?” Greg asks me. I become introspective and really analyze this before I answer, and then I shrug seeing as nothing I say will prove satisfactory. If I told him how Michael saved me, how he was different from the other you-know-whats, he wouldn’t understand. He’d just say I was a nutcase who needed his head examined.

After the course of two or three minutes (it felt like a lot more to me), the rags arrive with the third man. He tosses them to Mac, who catches them with ease.

“Did you bring the bottles too?” Greg asks.

“They’re just outside sir,” the man responds. “I’ll go get ‘em.”

The chair I’m strapped to is made of wood. It is laid across the floor, me now facing the ceiling. This is going to suck.

“You could always talk now,” Greg offers. I remain silent, like a good friend should, and the rags are placed over my face. I toss my head to the left, throwing the rags off. When a hard punch hits me in the—Lord, that hurts!—face I stopped turning. The rags go over me again. I think my nose is bleeding.

One of the water bottles is opening, I can hear it. Here it comes. Mac’s tilting it right now. Get out now, Michael. Get out before they find y—CRASH!

“What the—?!”

The sound of men being tossed about the room echoes through my ears. Bullets fly from Mac’s gun, but it explodes in his hand, causing him to shout in pain. The other two goons fire but are launched into the ceiling, their necks snapping. I can hear Greg being pinned against the wall. Mac is groaning and weeping on the floor as the rags are lifted off my face.

Michael.

“Get out of here!” I tell him. He unties the ropes that bind me and helps me into a sofa chair. There’s Greg, being held against the wall by Michael’s power.

“I couldn’t just leave you,” he tells me, before looking to Greg with an expressionless face. One of the guns of the dead goons soars toward his hand. He aims it at the leader of the group, now begging for mercy.

“To harm an ally of mine is to hang oneself,” the angel says. Then a red mark appears between the eyes of Greg and blood trickles down from it until it reaches his lips. The body falls to the floor, lifeless. Michael looks back at me.

“Are you all right, Edward?”

“Yeah,” I lie, “I’m dandy. You showed up just in time. Although I still think you need to get the hell out of Dodge.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “We are getting out, not I.”

“I have to see Sally first.”

Sally’s my girlfriend. She’s—she’s beautiful. It’s a long story. I haven’t quite decided whether I’ll marry her yet. We’ve been with each other quite a while now.

“No time,” Michael tells me, causing me further worry. “Those were easy hunters. If they send Lucifer—.”

“I can’t just leave her. They’ll kill her!”

I’m standing now, but my leg hurts too much. I’m trembling as I fall back into the chair. Michael holds a hand to where the bullet is and slowly—YAGH—levitates it out of me. I’m not bleeding too badly. Okay, maybe I AM bleeding too badly. But he’s already ripping a bed sheet apart and wrapping a piece of it around the wound.

“That should stop the bleeding. Raphael will be able to heal you later.”

“Michael, I can’t leave her.”

His face, though without expression, holds weight behind it like you couldn’t imagine. His eyes waver and glow. And then, he understands.

“I will get you to safety first. The others are downstairs with a car. I’ll let them get you out of here, then I’ll get the girl.”

I’m thinking of disagreeing, thinking of telling him I have to be there when it happens. But that’d be foolish right now. I need healing, and Raphael’s always been the quickest at that.

“All right, fine. Let’s go.”

He nods. We depart. Mac looked dead last I checked.

This world has changed since the war. I can only hope that doing what I’m doing will help save it from its own self-destruction. Although, to be honest, when I look outside at the covert dystopia that has come, I can’t help but lose hope entirely.

We’re hanging on a ledge right now. I really hope Man’s fingers don’t get any more tired than they already are.

———————————————————————————————————————————–

Before I go, I want to tell you a true story about the power of art. There was once this girl sitting in a car on a city bridge. It was night, and not very many cars were passing by at the time. She was crying, weeping actually, because right then, right there, in that moment, she intended, completely and utterly, to drive over the edge of the bridge into the water below. Sweat trickled down her neck and shivers traveled up her spine. Now, this sort of thing happens all the time, and so, naturally, she could’ve just pressed down on the gas and gotten it over with. In most cases, this would’ve been so.

So then there was this nightclub. A DJ (I won’t say who, but suffice to say he’s a pretty big deal in the clubbing world—and a family friend) was playing some killer tracks, and everyone was going wild. The room was electric, truly. You could feel the life pulsating through it, like a heartbeat. Then, after the DJ’s work was done and he was turning in for the night, someone tried to reach him backstage. At first, security tried to shove the person away, but the DJ approved their passage, for they did not seem to be some crazy, drunk fan out seeking autographs or something “intimate.” His guess was right, for it was then that the person told him of the miracle that had been bestowed upon them.

They had just recently gone through some of the toughest trials life had ever thrown their way. In fact, these trials were so punishing and cruel, that the person had been driven to the point where death seemed like the only option. And then, literally seconds before the gas pedal was pressed down and a body was made soulless, a song came on the radio, a song called It’s Gonna Be Okay. It was one of the DJ’s best songs.

Art saved her life that night.

To all my fans who are artists: any time you think maybe your life would be more useful somewhere else, doing what society has told you is “productive,” remember that you’re doing something that actually saves lives. If that ain’t productive—ah, screw that, it’s productive, know it like you know your name. We need more of you out there, because even if you’re never thanked for it, know that you’re doing something badass just by being an artist.

So yeah, that’s why I put random pictures at the top of all my articles. Now, finish the night with this video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwAYpLVyeFU

Love,

D.

Laugh.

So, a terrorist attack, eh?

17 Apr

A world without barriers.

Let’s talk about that.

So, these bombs went off, you see? I don’t need to tell you what happened. These bombs went off, and people were hurt, a few killed. Blood and broken bones, reports of strollers being torn to bits. I’m not sure if there were kids in ’em, but that’s what I heard on the radio. And now we’re all talking about it, and the T.V.’s repeating it over and over, and it’s slowly becoming soldered into your mind, like a parasite. And you don’t even realize it, but now, because that’s happened, because you’re all talking about it, and because you’re all perpetuating the horrible, horrible incident that happened yesterday (and yes, I’m guilty of doing so right here, right now), they’ve won. They’ve done exactly what they intended. It’s an endless stream of chaos, burning through the tongues of society’s youth life wildfire. And you’ve got the matches, they lit ’em, and you’re tossing ’em into dried grass.

This wasn’t about killing anybody specific, or, frankly, about killing people, period. This was about sending a shock wave through every city, over every mountain, across every valley, river, lake and stream, into every home, on every television set. This wasn’t about money, or religion (even if they find out it was Islamic Extremists). Those are all just kerfluffle bits in the way of the real, basic truth: this was about creating an effect, one that stuck. And boy did they do it. Look at you! Even now you were probably thinking about it, before you even read this. That’s why you came to read this. In fact, I can guarantee that you definitely came to read this article for one of three or reasons:

  • You wanted to release some of that anger concerning the incident by reading another viewpoint and going, “Yeah, I agree! This was awful!”
  • Your school is doing some kind of report thingie on it, so you’ve got to gather as much data as possible, which means you sure as hell are interested in this heinous act.
  • You were hoping this was something about the whole thing being planned by the government, an inside job, or something conspiratorial.

There’s also one other exception: you’re just BSing around on the internet, which, in my opinion, if the best reason to have read this article. So, kudos to you. To the rest, shut up. I don’t mean to be rude, but—actually, I do mean to be rude, SHUT UP. I’m tired of everybody talking about this nonsense. Yes, it’s bad, it sucks, I mean that sincerely, but they want us to keep talking about it. In Israel, they never make a big media blast about terrorism. If bus 117 got bombed the other day, then the next day they’d get everybody riding bus 117. Why? Because if bus 117 was empty, then it worked: nobody will do THAT anymore, because THAT’S dangerous.

Hihihihihihihihihi

I can give you the cliche “everybody join hands and work together” crap, which is totally true, by the way, or we can get down to the bottom of this. This is a loop we’re on, a cycle that keeps being perpetuated and perpetuated by Man’s loving of talking about bad things that happened. It’s a disease. The cure is shut the hell up and talk about good things instead. We could have men on Mars soon, MARS! Cures for all kinds of diseases are being developed and put out right now! Books can be published by anyone from the age of born to whenever! TALK ABOUT THAT, THEN WE WIN, NOT THEM!

I only talked about it at first so that you guys would listen to the rest, so that you would get the point. I don’t want to keep this cycle going, I want to end it. It can end now, starting with you.

Let’s talk about that.

~D.