Game

The aim of the game is to catch as many balls as you within the allotted time. Saving yourself for the coming winter is a secondary concern. Now, whenever life gets you in a kerfuffle you might as well count your blessings and summon the will to carry on. What’s the worst that could happen? Dying? It’ll happen one day so you might as well get a little bit of life over with before the end eh? Anyway, get back to your game, it’s got a fair way to go yet and its all still to play for.

Celebrate

Well and truly ready for the celebration of the globe, the endless spin and falling grace of god’s essence, as it enters its first days. Life has risen and fallen again and again, deeper and deeper into the soul of grace. I’ve seen it growing all across its surface, losing itself in the endless joy of existence. What a world eh? A formless creation morphing endless contortions of new forms, new creations built off the old, never-ending in complexity. What a world to see and eat and sleep in. True and deadly in its infinite variety. Lovely and new isn’t it. Wonderfully full and meticulous in its creation. Smiling again, smiling again.

Grind

Grinding the meat to a pulp, an amorphous mass of pink-white paste; keep on grinding down and down. It’s liquid now, bloody and fresh and sloshing around in the bowl, smearing the sides dark red. Welcome to this plastic hell, formed of millennia old flesh and bone, fragments lodged now deep in its throat.

Music whilst writing

Blue Monday – Lord Horror

Rust

The site of horror stories always drip with a little blood afterward, no matter what happened. It leaks from holes in the walls, leaving stains as it runs it way down to saturate the ground a light crimson brown. These small stains give patterns to streets and tree trunks across the world and, removed from context, they are able to trace their own stories.

Following these trails detectives often find themselves fumbling through abandoned buildings, trekking across open fields, and hiking far into age warped forests. And within? New byways for the unwary investigator to follow deep, deep into lost places at the core of the world.

It takes time, and more than a little luck, to find these areas that wriggle inside the world like tapeworms through the gut. But, sometimes, people do stumble on them and find inside only an empty concrete room or a huge faucet dripping congealed blood into a basin. Staying awhile changes nothing, the room stays bare, or the tap continues to splat wetly again and again and again and again onto the porcelain.

These places do exist though, at the end of long trails.

Gumption

The sorcerous waves of their hand always made them look just a little bit stupid as they ponced about in their hat the height of your average dog, their hair sticking out from underneath at wild angles. But, despite that, it seemed to me that they carried a speck of grace, a slight hint of certainty.

Sometimes they chose to stride through the cramped space like a two-legged cat whilst they moved their hands, passing down dictates to those working around them, occasionally pointing their fingers across the entire length of the room at anyone who dared to look away for a second. Then, after a few minutes, they’d fall to the ground, shaking, and we’d gather round to lie them straight, head turned to one side, and watch as grainy yellow-green foam dribbled from between their lips.

Before long however they’d come around, like a little electric shock had run its way through them, snatch up their hat from the ground and go about their day, none the wiser.

They were a slight annoyance to the rest of us, but we had always tolerated them, putting up with their antics for the most part with an awkward smile and a roll of the eyes. Better to have to sit though one of these infrequent lectures than deal with the hassle of sending them off. Why bother to get rid of them when we could keep an eye on them by ourselves? Who really wanted them hidden away like a stray in the doghouse, to yowl and scrape at their cell walls?

So we kept them on, listened to their lectures, nodding in all the right places, attention fixed squarely forward as our work was ‘sorted’, and laughing a little behind our hands when they took a turn and tumbled off a doorstep, or cut a finger on glass.

Songs Whilst Writing

Prophecy Theme - Toto

Forest

We stopped amongst the trees, light shining through their branches, framing the ground below as a cage, bars of black shadow contrasting against the sunlit grass. We spent a long but indefinite amount of time there, buying a dew laughs, a smile, a couple frowns, but in the end we had to make ready to move on.

We left our packs behind, they had grown to heavy anyway, and headed off again into the trees. Some went alone, others together, hand in hand and still others as groups linked arm in arm, off into the trees.

Reality

When a political grudge match hinges on whether your opponent deserves to exist or not it might be time to revaluate.

Rant

The universe has been destroyed by poor writing, what a shame. It’s genuinely wiped out by the failure to explain stakes, a failure to follow up on plots, a seemingly needless number of new plots introduced, a complete inability to construct characters in a believable way, and a superb ability to fuck up other excellent stories previously portrayed.

I honestly cannot believe the intense hatred I feel for this writing, genuine feral hatred. Thank you.

Overheard

When was the last time you ate someone?

I DO NOT KNOW, LAST WEEK?

Well, you should really keep to that, eating people is very, very rude!

I WILL TRY DEARY BUT THEY ARE JUST SOOOOO TASTY!

Yes… You know what, I’ll let you into a little secret, sometimes I have a little nibble of one myself…

WHAT! REA-

Shhhhhhh! Don’t tell the whole room!

SORRY…

Anyway, how was Stalingrad?