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."

Snow

The man said, The snow is like a woman. It is fickle, one minute blowing about, the next settling into drifts. It can never decide what it wants and the whole time it is stinging your face and chilling your feet.

The woman said, The snow is like a man. It embraces you, but it always does what it wants and never thinks of you. You may think it is solid but it will deceive you and you will fall in deep drifts.

The sage said, The snow is like death, for we are with it all our lives, and a little makes us feel more alive, but to be caught in too much is to die.

But the child said, The snow is like life, and he jumped in and enjoyed it.

Cloudy dragonfire,
Mountain wreathed in orange flame,
Alpenglow sunset.

The Chronicles of Soemthign: Frying Pan

The story so far...

The thunderous crashing of fallen minidrones. Bugs gasping, dying all around. The dim light of the warehouse masking the shieldcloaked ones until they were upon his friends.

"Well, doctor?" A voice disturbed Asrayah's thought.

The Hollow Shells

I stare at my eggs,
Drowning
In salsa, and syrup from my waffle
Like the fallen stones of a building,
The pillars of a temple,
A pantheon
From some long lost civilization
Of chickens.

We are all of us completely high—
No drug-induced stupor, this,
But high on life,
On friends,
On dreams
And heady thoughts of zygotic avian culture.

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but some poet with a fork.

Christmas Lullaby

See the baby in the manger,
Our salvation's great exchanger,
Now an exile, now a stranger—
O God and man!
Forgive our each transgression,
Keep us from sin's regression,
Make us thy true possession.
Oh come, oh come and set us free,
O dying babe!
And when the grave shall claim us,
In heaven's rolls rename us
As a living child of thee.
Sleep, baby, sleep.

Why I love Skyrim

A friend... wrote:

Perhaps someday, when you have time or inclination, you could explain why Skyrim fascinates you so? I play Minecraft on occasion and some people love to build Skyrim themed houses, all of which are beautiful. That's about the extent of my exposure.

Well, friend-o, glad you asked. Not only have you given me my evening's topic, but you've also given me an excuse to talk about why I love the things I do.

Nearing Journey's End

Just a couple miles on,
Home and hearth are close at hand,
And before the sun goes down,
I will reach it, if I can.

Troubles lurk along the way,
Yet I, eager, tread along—
Troubles have no pow'r to sway
Hope or joy of trav'lling-song.

A Winter's Tale

Aldmer lay in a circle of snow,
Terrible wounds had laid him low;
Then Primera came to earth,
Bringing with her all her mirth.
“Beautiful one, as bright as the sun,
Surely you can heal me true.”
“No, my child, your wounds are wild,
And I must begone ere day has dawned.”

Christ lag in Todesbanden

Christ lay within death's prison,
For our offences given,
But now our Lord is risen
And doth our souls enliven;
Let us therefore joyful be,
Praise God and to him thankful be:
And raise our Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!