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 91 
 on: May 15, 2008, 09:32:05 am 
Started by Moonwolf - Last post by Seer Fox
Quote
“Baker Tales of Baguettes Eaten”

A baguette
Lies scrumptiously on the tray
Bathed in silvery butter.
It’s crust, normally golden brown,
Appears delicious in the night
It lies on the tray, bready and tasty,
Half eaten, half not.
But, for me, it will always be eaten.
I recall the night I made it.
The lettuce now on its crust reminds
Me of the sauce that spilled
Off my apron that night.
I had always run to the butchers for ingredients
But that night all I could offer
Was a croissant.
All I ever offered was a croissant.
Before that night it had been enough.
I told him the sad tale
Of my fridge that was empty.
How I baked to pay him.
It had been emptied by
A cake that should’ve filled me.
I blamed myself that night
For everything that happened.
Kept telling myself I should’ve added more cheese.
That I should’ve used the cream
Instead of using frozen yoghurt.
All of this comes rushing back to me
In a wave of memory, I can never forget.
Like the topping I create on the tarts,
The butchers meats smell on my bread.
I, the baker, watch deliciously as yet another
baguette is made in the oven
Seconds before another delicious baguette
Jumps into the dark mouth’s embrace.
Saliva splashes like sauce onto
The golden brown crust of the delicious baguette.


Made it better for you.


Ciat,
Seer Fox

 92 
 on: May 15, 2008, 09:12:33 am 
Started by pink monkey bird - Last post by Seer Fox
Why are there so many questions?
Is this supposed to be serious?
I thought we'd gone over these topics in your poems before?
Why do I even bother to ask?
Why have I just wasted precious seconds of my life looking at your work?

I guess we'll never know.

Ciat,
Seer Fox

 93 
 on: May 12, 2008, 10:15:27 pm 
Started by pink monkey bird - Last post by jazen
not much rythm, at least not that I could see any way.
I think it whould be what not that in the second line, but thats probably just me.

In answer to a few questions, kicking dogs would be harsh (aka animal protection would be down on us like anything). We kick stones because we can (no stone protection society round here that I know of). Not every one is afraid of spiders, and how do you know how the earth feels - have you talked to it lately?
Mathematics is the study of everything mathematical, arithmatic is just a branch off of that.

Oh and obviously someone is questioning them - YOU.

Well done. It's nice to see some new work, sorry it took so long to get back to you.

 94 
 on: May 09, 2008, 05:36:27 pm 
Started by pink monkey bird - Last post by pink monkey bird
why is it thast we readily accept what we cannot understand?
why is it that we doubt that we can?
why do we kick stones down the road?
why do we not kick dogs?
why are people afraid of spiders,
but the earth isn't afraid of people?
why is arithmatic singular,
yet mathmatics plural?
why do we not question these things?

 95 
 on: April 20, 2008, 08:23:31 am 
Started by Travwri - Last post by EightyEight
I've found, for me, the best way to get started again is to do something completely different. That may be a me thing - I always find it difficult to stick with a project to completion. I grind to a halt, then have a refresher by writing something completely different. Then eventually I can resume work on whatever I stopped before.
As for writing in general... I really can't help you, there Tongue.

 96 
 on: April 19, 2008, 07:44:18 am 
Started by EightyEight - Last post by EightyEight
So, time to start writing stuff again. I really should get on with SaC, but I've just had so many other ideas rattling around in my head. I guess it's short story time for now... Tongue
I am going somewhere with this one - it's just the first part. I think there's enough confusing stuff that needs to be explained later on Tongue

-----------------------------

   It wasn't always like this.
   The air shimmered with heat, the telltale, traitorous sign of a harmonic forming. It was the one warning the enemy got. If they stayed, they would die. With a hiss like a snake about to strike, the air exploded. Trees, the dense forest, ignited, not even catching fire before they burst into shoals of light and fire. The grass withered for a thousand years, died, evaporated, and the soil melted, all in an instant. Tiny creatures, thousands of them, busy with their tiny existences, burned into purgatory. A rabbit, burrowing near the surface, writhed in pain before its flesh was charred off the bone. The protection of the earth had granted it a moment longer to live - only for it to suffer.
   This was too real.
   The harmonic disappeared. The ripples in the air were no longer artificial, the product of cunning manipulation of energy; they were the blood and tears of the forest, whose heart had been pierced, reduced to wind and ash. But the destruction continued. A gale rushed outwards, blowing a breath of hell through the foliage. Plants combusted, tree-trunks charred and smoke started to curl from their bark. Fire spread outwards from the wound, a glowing corona, but then the wind reversed, extinguishing all but the largest flames.
   In the centre of the wound, the enemy crouched. It was not dead. It was a blasphemy, that it still lived - as if it did not appreciate the sacrifice that had been made. The forest wept, sending heat into the sky. Around the enemy, an impossible bubble of sanity remained. Untouched grass, unspoiled air. The bubble reflected invisible colours of the sun, twisting the light as it passed through the barrier in the air. It had foiled the harmonic; the enemy was untouched.
   Now we know where it is, we can kill it.
   It barely deserved the name missile. It was a tiny black bulb, with a fluted body and bloated head. It was smaller than the rabbit that had died paving the way for this most deadly of weapons. The missile hung in the air, slow and inefficient. The enemy saw it, and started. What it started did not matter. It could have done anything, but nothing would save it. It ceased to exist as soon as the missile was fired. The perfect parabola paused. The missile looked down at the forest, at the black burn which had been made for it, like an animal's hair is shaved before surgery. It fired.
In the forest, a new firestorm erupted. The blossom started in front of the enemy, and expanded into a flower of pure light, purple and mostly white, glowing brighter than the sun. Shadows leaped away from it, ignoring the far-off star for now. The blossom expanded, drilling into the ground, reaching deeper than the harmonic ever could, burning. It reached into the enemy, peeling off layers of armour that the planets themselves coveted. The air was scoured painfully, every impurity burned away. Blue and green lights flickered in the blossom, gas in the air igniting, sizzling away like air trapped in old firewood. The blossom ended, exhausted itself. Fire retreated into the forest, taking care to pass around the husks of trees that were still destroying themselves. In an instant, the blossom was gone. The shadows returned. The trees finished disintegrating. The storm of wooden shards in the air burned from the new heat, fireflies dispersing into the dark, and vanished.
   The enemy was dead. Its body was dispersed in the air; it had become the air. The perfect bubble of protection was gone, too.
   Now we know where it is, we can kill it.
   The vital links to the world of knowledge, that expanded universe, were cut off by means civilised and humane, and the knowledge receded like the tide as Mathias unplugged the armour's elink from the back of his neck.
   Though the link never came inside him - the contact was made by magnets and wireless signals - he somehow felt invaded whenever he was connected to the armour. It put him in the mind of some ancient and evil spirit. But he mostly ignored the feeling. Quite apart from his squadmates' ridicule, feeling that your own armour, your livelihood, was going to suck the soul from your corpse was never a good mentality in a combat situation. They were trained to trust the armour, nurtured to succumb to its power and the amazing sensory extrapolation that its elink provided.
The armour disappeared back into its berth, a flayed black outline. Dormant, it was nothing more vicious-looking than a black body suit, tight-fitting, but with bulges in odd locations - the shoulders and shoulder blades, the small of the back, fronts of the thighs and shins, rear of the head. Its soles were toughened and thick, ready to provide traction on every surface. But active, it was transformed into the deadliest killer. Jagged protuberances grew from its hide, designed with only efficiency in mind but still evoking terror. Dark wings, the focusing equipment for the harmonic weapon, gave the armour the appearance of an ungodly apparition; the defensive flip-side of the same technology distorted the air around the wearer, forcing the viewer to question whether this hellish vision was really a thing of the world, not an escaped nightmare. Unreal muscles flowed artificially beneath the surface, and the movements of even the most ungraceful wearers were coaxed and coerced into becoming lithe and fluent.
   Mathias called it the devil-incarnate-suit, mostly jokingly.

 97 
 on: April 16, 2008, 08:23:13 am 
Started by Seer Fox - Last post by Travwri
Equality is something that James pretends he wants. Everyone pretends to want it, except for M.I.T. professors, because we know our meager intellects would be strangled by the weight of meritocracy. James disentangles himself from his snoring wife, makes a pot of weak cofee, and hopes nothing bad will happen today. He turns on CNN. He remembers that he forgot to buy milk. Uninvited, his day begins. He sighs.

Next word: blossom   

 98 
 on: April 16, 2008, 08:10:41 am 
Started by Travwri - Last post by Travwri
Last month I was tearing up the page...cranking out the writing and sending it out into the world. This month? The best I can do is stolen moments here and there adding paragraphs or jotting down character profiles. Plus, oh, the cherry blossoms compete for my attention...
Best/quirkiest methods for finding focus and energy? Huh? Thanks.

 99 
 on: April 13, 2008, 12:49:14 am 
Started by Kitsune Tsuki - Last post by Kitsune Tsuki
First try at a research paper.  Ya know, with actual citations and sources and the like.  That sort of thing.  Suppose I should get use to it for college :p.  Anyways, here it is, along with my works cited.  There's an extra source on the works cited, and I'll get rid of it later.

 100 
 on: April 11, 2008, 11:32:20 am 
Started by Kitsune Tsuki - Last post by Kitsune Tsuki
That depends.  Are you familiar with the Iron Kingdoms fluff?  If so, just read the first link and and get a grasp of the rules.  If you don't know much about the iron kingdoms, I suggest you read up on them.  You don't need a great knowledge of it, but try and get the bare bones of the setting.  If you do anything too much out of the setting like making a making a laser gun, I'll let you know.

Glad you're interested in playing!  It will hopefully be a refreshing difference from whatever games you play now.

EDIT: Ok, this ain't going anywheres.  Decided against it, or rather lost a interest in it.  I'm locking this thread.

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