Echo Park, Dinosaur National Monument

Me, Dave, and Jess went on an adventure. (Grammarians may object that it ought to be spelt "Dave, Jess, and I", but it must be remembered that this is an adventure and so different rules of syntax are at play.)

The Death Dealer

Frank Frazetta, "The Death Dealer"

Dark helm, dark horse, dark shield, dark axe. Dark blood. Beware him the dark smoke precedes and the dark birds follow, for he whispers his dark words and the darkness envelops you until your soul is black as night, and then his master comes, but he—he rides on.

(For Badass Digest, http://badassdigest.com/2015/03/13/exclusive-win-a-gorgeous-poster-from-the-robert-rodriguez-gallerys-frank-fr. If you would like to enter to win a copy of this print, click that link before Monday the 16th at midnight!)

Writing is so cathartic. The page understands all, and it never judges form or content. It listens and doesn't interrupt. It's OK if you're super random and can't form a coherent thought; it will wait until you can. It allows you to take it back if you say something stupid. It remembers it if you say something well.

The hacker surveyed the limp body on the ground as blood slowly pooled underneath. He blew on the tip of his Beretta 9mm and holstered it. The crowd watched, waited in horror. He turned to face them and screamed, "Would anybody else like to," he made air-quotes, "'hack' the 'mainframe'?!"

There is no feeling in the world like involuntary crying because you're facing the wind, while not breathing because your nose is clogged but mouth-breathing causes your glasses to fog because, again, you're facing the wind. Photography, I have missed thee.

The cowboy stared down the townspeople, refusing to relinquish his prize. Two cholulas, he said. No man should have that power.

The Chronicles of Soemthign: Concordat

The story so far...

As their eyes adjusted to the inside light, a reception droid with an oversynthesized female voice greeted them. "Welcome to the Ivory Tower, Mr. Forte. Your android will please remain in this area." She gestured to a door on their left as Sparky, obviously familiar with his surroundings, ambled towards it. "The Concordat is expecting you. Please go up."

The elevator was slow, and let out into a dark velvet chamber. Three rows of pew benches faced a long, baroque desk, at which sat five robed figures. The middle one intoned in a deep voice, "Be seated and await the judgment of the Concordat."