tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35653868943957393692024-03-13T02:39:43.911+00:00Marlowe ManorA ramshackle old place with an occasional flickering light behind the windowsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-35937313300502324352018-11-02T10:32:00.004+00:002018-11-02T10:33:25.383+00:00Moving the Manor - update your links<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pjERqBuMBYY/T6UYpXDXwEI/AAAAAAAAAPY/4OwP117zHlkTL6OLyqyCGyiIzekgHj-dQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/haunted_house_0.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="243" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pjERqBuMBYY/T6UYpXDXwEI/AAAAAAAAAPY/4OwP117zHlkTL6OLyqyCGyiIzekgHj-dQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/haunted_house_0.png" /></a></div>
<br />
Halloween has been and gone and all the strangers have visited the door of Marlowe Manor for the last time, their costumes charming and distressing by turn. Now is the time for me to board up the doors and windows and leave the old place to the ghosts who prowl and moan among the creaking boards.<br />
<br />
My blog is now moving to a new home, a brightly lit and spacious property sold to me by a property dealer with a cast in one eye and a shifty expression. It was a bargain and entirely free of curses and ghosts he assured me, as he stood carefully in front of an old wooden sign announcing "Ancient Burial Ground" and bearing the scrawled picture of a skull and crossbones in dark and faded red paint.<br />
<br />
The new address is in the name of my nom-de-guerre Finn Cullen and can be located at<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://finncullen.co.uk/">finncullen.co.uk</a></span></div>
<br />
Please update your address books, electronic memory devices or tattooed slaves with the new address and I look forward to receiving you there for new poetry, fiction, gaming insights and updates on my work in progress novel <i style="font-weight: bold;">The Crow Journal</i> a tale of Victorian sorcery and Faerie horror.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-71055040383966244252018-07-02T15:48:00.001+01:002018-07-02T15:48:35.489+01:00Bare Handed<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhakFLVR9PSARUev0Cl4iuwYSkg4AEFVzVFC8M2r7-gjRqWbT5ptQwuA6xnYgvt0ZQQVobW3pnD3x39ssfXzu2bIjCzCESHJssQ2Ls8w5mDO3lsThWJdHWJufy1lk9fZ2Am5A5bfsSF_t1K/s320/Berlin+in+1945.jpg" width="320" /></div>
<br />
<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every empire falls, there’s not a one that’s lasted,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A state has an expiry date, and yours has slithered past it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It happened to us once , and soon you’ll join us in the wreckage<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your influence is fucked your credibility is lessened<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Make enemies of friends and you suck up to dictators<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brag about your bombs but you’ll only devastate us<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With a tanked economy and a trade war that’s not needed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And tariffs on the borders just for headlines for the readers<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of the press – If I can call them press but really that’s a joke<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just a propaganda outlet for the racist redneck volk<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He’s a big tough guy, and he’ll make us great again”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bullshit, he’s a moron, and you’re going down the drain<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All his lackies they’re investigated, for fraud and collusion<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And he fornicates with porn stars, cos his marriage is illusion<br />
It almost made me numb to all the stories that kept breaking<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At how fucking dumb a nation gets when it’s mistaken<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In choosing an orangutan to try and run the country<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’s a moron not a politician, don’t you understand he<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Only tears things down, can’t build things up not even when he<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Says he’ll build a wall, he’s screwed you all, you’re just like Stormy<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I’m not numb no more, what provoked me into rage is<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I heard the screaming of the kids you put in cages<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Crying for their mothers and for help and they’re just babies<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They’re not cages they’re just wire and concrete summer camps to stay in”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then you have the nerve to start to play the fucking victim<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When some privileged white bitch gets grief at dinner, she’s evicted<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s just not polite the restaurant it should be shut down”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fuck you, you’re a joke, and every tyrant ends up cut down<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You spent the last three years saying “Toughen up you snowflakes”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now you whine and cry, you dish it out but cannot even take<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
words aimed back at you, you weakling moron traitor<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh was I rude? Well as of now I’m glad to be a hater<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s their fault we took their kids cos they’re all undocumented”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We see right through your rhetoric we know that what you meant is<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We don’t want them in the country cos their skin is kind of brown<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And they speak another language, they won’t fit into our town<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The left are so damned rude and they claim to be so tolerant”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well that’s our fault so far, now I’ll say that I’m belligerent<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cos reason only works when your foe is reasonable<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And reason doesn’t penetrate the Fox and Breitbart bubble<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We see where you are headed, and we recognise each lie<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When a cage becomes a summercamp and arbeit fucking macht frei<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this will pass, it always does, dictators always tumble<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the marching feet of demonstraters make a building rumble<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of thunder in the cities and you’re gonna face the fighting<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cos you cannot have the thunder without a bolt of lightning<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Freedom’s terminally ill now, and the future world is urging<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You to sort the country out, you need to book a surgeon<br />
Cut deep and cut right now, because I heard the rumour<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The USA is sick, and Donald Trump<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
He is the tumour.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-11981976486353796782018-02-20T17:10:00.001+00:002018-02-20T17:10:32.348+00:00A Step Beyond Context<br />
There are excited noises coming from Marlowe Manor at the moment.<br />
<br />
I've just released my first novel "A Step Beyond Context" which is now available on Amazon as both a kindle ebook and a paperback.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IskRUaeTGp0/WoxWglaVXGI/AAAAAAAAASk/IONoZ4k5PwQqs2lgAUN_IGJEaZJM7RwigCLcBGAs/s1600/context.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="324" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IskRUaeTGp0/WoxWglaVXGI/AAAAAAAAASk/IONoZ4k5PwQqs2lgAUN_IGJEaZJM7RwigCLcBGAs/s320/context.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It draws on ideas that first surfaced here in my Lucksmith stories featuring the irascible old meddler Lucas and his maverick team of dimensional travellers, and focuses on a young woman with a complicated past as a mercenary and computer hacker who has to balance this with her family background as a Regency lady.<br />
<br />
Called home for a family gathering she is thrown headlong into intrigue and danger and takes it on herself to unpick the tangled web that ensues, crossing different worlds to find the truth.<br />
<br />
It's published under a pen-name <i>Finn Cullen</i> and is available from the links below.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Step-Beyond-Context-Finn-Cullen-ebook/dp/B079R63TH4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1519146226&sr=8-1&keywords=a+step+beyond+context">Kindle</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Step-Beyond-Context-Finn-Cullen/dp/1980281823/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1519146226&sr=8-2&keywords=a+step+beyond+context">Paperback</a><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(these are the amazon.com links - other countries are available)</span></i><br />
<br />
If you do feel inspired to give it a read please review and spread the word.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-13769691783088993362016-12-15T09:46:00.002+00:002016-12-15T09:47:13.910+00:00Millstone<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
To err is human, to forgive divine<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I’m no god, no angel, and therefore<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll own the frail humanity that’s mine<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eschew forgiveness and admit that flaw<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amazing grace is offered, but you know<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If what you did was part of His great plan<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then call on Him, for Him to mercy show,<o:p></o:p></div>
For He’s amazing. I
am just a man.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-91710419502256627352016-12-08T16:42:00.000+00:002016-12-08T16:56:39.059+00:00A Light Motive<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Old demons never die, they simply dim their flames<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And decompose through all the crime scene stages<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Righteous hatred stiffening in the rigor of history<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Prodded and examined, Questioned and challenged, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The images of fire debated and heat’s meaning discussed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then decomposition sets in and infernal foulness<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mulches down in parody and meme's rich loam<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And makes of slicing stamping real, a simple word<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A name to slander any, every, thing disliked,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dust, then, to dust in sleeping eyes and demons wake<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unnoticed and unjust they change their name and sing<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The same old songs, bright torchlit rallies seen anew<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Men in rows, coloured spectacles where e-books burn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the old fire kindles and liberty turns to face<o:p></o:p></div>
The dawn with open, readied, leveled arms.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-68612910913920632502016-12-08T12:00:00.000+00:002016-12-08T12:05:14.750+00:00Jody Call<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Drumbeats tonight and every night<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Distant enough that you can lie to yourself<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That it’s within you<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hypertense blood fleeing the pounding rhythm<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Corpuscular refugees surge and rest, surge and
rest,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fading, flagging, carried in the current panic<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until depleted coming round again, again, again<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To the drump, drump, drump<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of the remorseless heart and its everlong cadence,<o:p></o:p></div>
Drum of the body politic, marking days gone and going<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-81789694080572864212016-12-08T11:00:00.003+00:002016-12-08T11:00:42.741+00:00Bye, Koo. <div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Counting syllables</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Does not make a haiku, pal</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There's much more to them.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-4704954947650765432016-12-07T10:10:00.000+00:002016-12-07T10:10:18.406+00:00An exposition in verse of conditions, both meterological and biological, experienced during a daily commute from home to work.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Inside fire, and mist outside<o:p></o:p></div>
Unpleasant, lengthy, morning ride<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-58852779126389438942016-10-13T13:34:00.001+01:002016-10-13T13:34:43.762+01:00In Support of the Land of Crasti<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They were here, right here, I’m sure<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night before I slept I’m sure I left them here<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the bed, by the alarm clock<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ready for me to pick up in the morning<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I almost babble with panic as fingers scrabble<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over throat lozenges and fake wood veneer<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Filled to bursting with the stuff I picked up in school<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And added to with things I shaped myself<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(haphazard and unwieldy though they were)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shining and polished, and so so many of them<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All ready to use, right here, I’m sure they were<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where did they go? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Could they have been so carelessly mislaid<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or did some thief, clever-creeping come to my room<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the night<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the silence<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And take them away?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My years. Where have
they gone?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(in response to Studio30Plus prompt "Babble")</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-80742156283850156012016-10-04T11:55:00.002+01:002016-10-04T11:55:25.561+01:00Anathema Drumbeat<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
In the dusty caverns of the temple, in the burned out ashes of the hall<u></u><u></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
In the empty echoing of ages we stand and smile and silence takes it all<u></u><u></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Through the endless empty march of seconds, Through the days so brilliant and bleak<u></u><u></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Through the nights and through the days so foolish, are we quite so foolish as to speak?<u></u><u></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Where’s the voice that once proclaimed the sunlight, Where’s the hand that framed the tyger’s fire<u></u><u></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Where’s the blood the drowned a deadly serpent? Who’s the fool who dares to thus enquire?<u></u><u></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
We will raise our voices in the silence, we will raise our hands to show our cause,<u></u><u></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
We will shed our blood if blood needs shedding, fear and fright will never give us pause<u></u><u></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
We have something shining and surpassing, We have life that quickens every heart.<u></u><u></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
We have that within that passeth knowledge, We have light and darkness. We have art.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<i>(For Studio30Plus and their prompt "Anathema")</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-72566922174149860282016-06-24T08:51:00.001+01:002016-06-24T08:51:13.625+01:00Here is wisdom.<br />
<h1 class="quoteText" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">
“Vimes had once discussed the Ephebian idea of ‘democracy’ with Carrot, and had been rather interested in the idea that everyone had a vote until he found out that while he, Vimes, would have a vote, there was no way in the rules that anyone could prevent Nobby Nobbs from having one as well. Vimes could see the flaw there straight away.”</h1>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">― </span><a class="authorOrTitle" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1654.Terry_Pratchett" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">Terry Pratchett</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">, </span><span id="quote_book_link_63720" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><a class="authorOrTitle" href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/819126" style="color: #333333; font-family: Lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;">The Fifth Elephant</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-44470229205275344722016-06-08T17:04:00.001+01:002016-06-08T17:06:39.490+01:00Transformation<div class="MsoNormal">
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An alchemist scowled and he said</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">While gloomily scratching his head<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Perhaps I’m too old<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">To turn self into gold<o:p></o:p></span></div>
I guess I’m too easily led.<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>In Response to <a href="http://studio30plus.com/page/prompts">Studio30Plus</a>' Prompt "Guess" or "Reckon"</i></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-41101527123957517052016-06-03T17:20:00.000+01:002016-06-03T18:38:38.892+01:00The Watchers on the Wall<i>An extract from a manuscript discovered in the ruins of Lughdunum in the early 24th century following the great Barcode Wars. It appears to have been a satirical play, author unknown.</i><br>
<i><br></i>
<i>This extract is from Act III of the play and takes place in Adlerstan on the Great Border</i><br>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 1 (entering):<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">What news my friend? The waste beyond the wall?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 2: <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Remains, unchanged. A desolation still.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 1:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">This watch is wearisome to me, and is<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">To each man of renown a burden bleak.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">But needful, so they say, our pleasant land<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">To save and to preserve from evil days.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 2:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">What days more evil than those days we have<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Could come upon us?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 1:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Soft, and speak no more.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Such words as those are barbed, and pierce and tear,<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And risk enough to hear, much less to speak.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">There’s men enough to bear a tale for coin<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And not for me the prison camp offshore.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Captain (entering):<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">What ho, what ho, you sturdy men and true<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 1:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Captain, good day<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 2:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Good day my captain bold.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Captain:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Good day indeed, dear lads, for I have news<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Today our watch is brightened from above<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">For to the wall there comes to see our watch<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And I predict on us to praises heap<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Our leader, the eternal ruler Trump<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Preserved by Art a century and more<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Oh glory, glory and such glory thrice<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">To see our leader, why it’s…<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 1:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Very nice?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Oh Captain do we have the right to see<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">This wondrous Trump, the first of God’s decree<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">This paragon of triumph and of will?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">This golden one? Oh may he rule us still.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 2:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Your irony is showing friend, back off<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Captain:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">What did you say my man?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 2:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">‘Twas just a cough.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Captain:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Stand to, good men and true, stand to indeed<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And every buckle shine and button close<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Your halberds and your crossbows polish all<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I’ll go escort our leader to the wall<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">(exit)<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 1:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Great God in heaven is this not enough<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">To insult heap on this injurious toil<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">To have to smile and fawn on this… on this..<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Bewigged, befouled vainglorious old boil!<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 2:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Peace, he comes, peace and speak no more your mind<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">(enter Captain and TRUMP an iron-lung on tracks, a bouffant blond wig blowing on top of it)<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Captain:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Hail to the chief, good men, and Hail Indeed<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard1:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Hail Trump, oh steel encased and mighty one<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 2:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Hail Trump, Lord of a time now spent and gone<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">TRUMP:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">GOOD BOYS GOOD BOYS THE JOB YOU DO IS SWELL<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">TO STAND AND GUARD THIS BORDER WALL OF HELL<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">FROM TIMES WHEN LIFE WAS SMOOTH I CHOSE OUR FATE<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">AND AS I SWORE I MADE OUR COUNTRY GRATE<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Captain:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Haha, good one, a double meaning there<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<br></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 1:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Good one my lord<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Guard 2:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">and is that really hair?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">TRUMP:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">YOU’RE DOING GREAT. THAT’S IT I HAVE TO GO<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">AND RULE SOME MORE THE SHEEPLE DOWN BELOW<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">SOME GREAT NEW LAWS WILL SHORTLY BE ENACTED<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">TO SCREW THE [RACIAL EPITHET REDACTED]<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">AND SOON YOU’LL SEE MY PLAN WILL BE COMPLETED<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">DAMN THEM [RACIAL EPITHET DELETED]<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">(he trundles away followed by the Captain)<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Narrator:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And so our tale must end this shocking scene<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Of futures bleak, that current moods may presage.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And so, your humble narrator I’ve been,<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I'm Thomas Marlowe – I endorse this message<u></u><u></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB">(exeunt omnes)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<i>In answer to Studio30Plus' prompt "VAINGLORIOUS"</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-14194731185173793412016-03-14T12:50:00.004+00:002016-03-14T12:52:39.144+00:00Sneaky bug(ger)sWhat would you do if you were a tiny insect and prey to those swooping swirling creatures of the night that can track you by sonar?<br />
<br />
Obvious isn't it?<br />
<br />
You learn to jam the sonar.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><a href="http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/how-one-moth-species-can-jam-bats-sonar-systems-10208105/?no-ist">Bertholdia trigona, a moth native to the Arizona desert, emits ultrasonic clicks at a rate of 4,500 times per second to blur bats' acoustic vision</a></span><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span></blockquote>
Next question.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/77/f8/6d/77f86d98eda36c191dbe46a0659f4ea0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/77/f8/6d/77f86d98eda36c191dbe46a0659f4ea0.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
What species are moving amongst us now that have the same jamming capabilities for our senses... and how would we ever know?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-24366506601238501952016-03-14T12:47:00.000+00:002016-03-14T12:47:01.026+00:00"there were never such devoted sisters..."Some things just cry out for backstory, even though I know in my heart of hearts that the truth of the situation cannot live up to the possibilities.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/98/a3/08/98a3088478d0b9453b67d01dba358c21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/98/a3/08/98a3088478d0b9453b67d01dba358c21.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
<br />
I like to think that this wasn't some one-off dispute that had got really out of hand, but evidence of a subculture of devoted-duellists who would travel Europe seeking to settle doctrinal disputes the old fashioned way. One red bead on the rosary for every confirmed kill as a badge of rank.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-38533175363770282762016-03-13T18:12:00.000+00:002016-03-13T18:13:39.150+00:00Romanian villagers: Why investigate vampire slaying? We know what we're doing?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.mumsnet.com/uploads/talk/201601/large-563315-vampire-3957731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.mumsnet.com/uploads/talk/201601/large-563315-vampire-3957731.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Typical government sticking their noses in where they're not needed.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "mcclatchy sans" , "arial" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.8571px;">Before Toma Petre's relatives pulled his body from the grave, ripped out his heart, burned it to ashes, mixed it with water and drank it, he hadn't been in the news much. That's often the way here with vampires. Quiet lives, active deaths.</span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-stretch: normal; height: 1px; overflow: hidden; width: 1px;">
<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />
Read more here: http://www.mcclatchydc.com/news/nation-world/world/article24587203.html#storylink=cpy</div>
</blockquote>
<a href="http://www.mcclatchydc.com/news/nation-world/world/article24587203.html">LINK</a><br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-78701659390518477642016-03-09T10:23:00.000+00:002016-03-09T12:19:25.705+00:00Debtor's Prison<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.freeimages.com/images/previews/592/cigarette-butt-1491407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://images.freeimages.com/images/previews/592/cigarette-butt-1491407.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The trouble with the old stories,” said the old man, thick
smoke clinging to his hair as he paused to draw on his cigarette and exhale
luxuriously, “is that they never end properly.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since his audience consisted of two young drunkards in a
Boston nightclub he didn’t get much of a reaction. The two men, students by the look of them,
lounged on the couch across from him and nodded wobbly heads for politeness
sake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They have ends, but they don’t end,” the old man
continued. “They come back in different
ways. You should read some of the old
folk tales from before Disney took his gelding shears to them. Blood and fire, torture and death and no
happy endings mostly. They should have
been allowed to rest in peace instead of dragged from their rest and prettied
up. Like putting a ribbon in a corpse’s
hair.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another long draw on his cigarette. “Still he ended up as a head in a frozen jar
so the laugh’s on him. Still awake from
what I hear, frozen and aware. Serves
the bastard right. Like Loki.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seeing no hint of recognition on the two listeners he
explained. “The god. Well half god, half giant. Chained to a rock beneath the earth, venom
dripping on his face from a big bastard of a snake. Frozen in place and aware of his pain
forever. Just like Disney.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bullshit,” said the shorter of the two men opposite, but
without acrimony.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Probably,” admitted the man. “Anyway my point is… my point is the stories
should be left to end. But they don’t. Let me tell you about last week.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“A man came into this club, this very club. He was a little older than you boys, tall
and good looking in a don’t get too close sort of way. Fair hair with a shine of red when he passed
under the lights. The sort of man that
just stinks of skulduggery. Don’t
laugh, it’s a good word. An old
word. Older than you think it is, that
word. Anyway he was a no good bastard
is what I mean. He bought drinks for
people, he laughed and he joked and he flirted with all the best looking
women. Successful too, what we used to
call honey-tongued.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Anyway he ended up taking one of those girls, Sabrina or
Selena or some such name, off by themselves for a little while. And while he was out of the room someone
else came in through the front door. Oh
she was something. Tall and strong,
long golden hair, eyes that burned blue.
Nobody could take their eyes of her but she didn’t look like someone
here to dance. Looked like trouble. Looked like someone hoping to call in a debt. And guess who she was looking for?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The man himself was in the corridor outside the rest room,
making out with Selena or Sabrina or whatever.
Getting hot and heavy. Then all
of a sudden she tries to pull away. ‘Something’s
burning,’ says she. He just holds her
all the tighter and then something screwy happens. She makes this god awful choking noise and
then pushes him away. The guy’s lost
all his swagger now, looks confused, scared.
He stumbles away and heads for the fire exit. Meanwhile Sabrina or Selena stands up tall
and straight, checks herself out in a mirror on the wall and smiles like she
likes what she sees.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just then the debt collector woman comes barrelling through
the corridor, and I swear to God she had a sword in her hand, a damn great
sword. Out she goes through the fire
exit after Sonny Jim and she doesn’t come back.
Not that night anyway. Meanwhile
Sabrina, or Selena, or whatever the hell she calls herself now goes back to the
club to drink some more and dance and get laid. What do you think of that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Still sounds like bullshit,” said the young man who’d
spoken before, “how do you know what happened?
Were you watching them make out you sick old bastard?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The old man drew on his cigarette again, “You know me too
well,” he said. Across the club he saw
a tall woman enter, haloed in the light of the club entrance, eyes burning and
a debt to collect. He blew his smoke
out across the men opposite, and the big guy, the more drunk one of the two
coughed and looked angry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“Let’s get out of here,” he said to his shorter companion, “I need some air.” He pulled the other man to his feet and they
turned to walk away from the old man, now looking confused and lost.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Crazy old bastard,” said the short man as they walked past
the woman who’d just arrived, not noticing her sudden fierce pace. “Skulduggery huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Old word,” said his no longer drunk friend, opening the
door and stepping out into the cold night air, “Comes from the Icelandic. Skuldari.
Means someone who’s trying to skip out on a debt. Let’s go get something to eat.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>In response to <a href="http://studio30plus.com/page/prompts">Studio30Plus</a> prompt "Skulduggery" </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Image by <a href="http://www.freeimages.com/photographer/tonejac-36323">Tony Jacobson</a></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-75636584065254836702015-11-28T13:58:00.000+00:002015-11-28T13:58:03.231+00:00History never repeats itself, but it often rhymes.<br />
<br />
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
Those old men in their towers</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
Rich in gold and oil and powers</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
Will never cry 'enough, I'm satisfied'</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
And they send out their town criers</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
And their skilful journaliars</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
And they cast their spell so trusted and so tried</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
See the other, over there?</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
What they're doing is unfair</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
And their ways are wrong and evil and obscene</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
We must fear them and must hate them</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
And completely decimate them</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
For while they live the world is never clean</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
So they'll march boys off to war</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
as they've marched them off before</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
And they beat the drums of falsehood and of shame</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
And if judgement's to be had</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
between what's good and bad</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
then first you need to ask the killer's name</div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border: 0px; color: #383838; font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.57143em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
In tenuous response to Light & Shade Challenge's <a href="http://lightandshadechallenge.blogspot.co.uk/2015/11/a-spark.html">"Incantation"</a> and Studio30Plus's <a href="http://studio30plus.com/page/prompts">"Attack"</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-48266196492502878362015-11-20T15:18:00.002+00:002015-11-20T15:35:36.558+00:00The Stone and the Seven<div class="MsoNormal">
Cannot sleep my lady?
Then draw close to the candle and listen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will tell you a tale of the old old days there were not in
fact so long ago as you would hope.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The King in those days had two sons. The eldest son, the heir was a foul creature,
handsome enough to look upon but nobody could long bear his presence without
wanting to flee him or strike him. The
King indulged his eldest son and the people suffered for it, but not so much
that they would rise up and turn horror into anger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In those days a traveller came through the wood, astray in
the dark heart of it, lost and cold.
Each path mocked him with its turns and every way he took brought him
back across his own earlier path. If he
called on the Virgin for guidance she did not hear him or choose to answer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The denizens of that house were several and they were foul
welcoming him with mocking eagerness, complimenting the length of his limbs and
the strength of his frame and the beauty of his features. They themselves were short and twisted
things, pale and half formed with faces that called to mind the slack hanging
faces of the dead. They dragged him
into their hovel and sat him at their table.
They all assured him that his presence honoured their dreadful cottage,
all except for one more malformed than the rest who lacked the power of speech
and simply rested his bulbous head on the table and damped the wood with his drooling.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He ate their rancid meat and drank their fusty water as
hospitality demanded and he felt his stomach rebel but his manners kept the
foul mess down.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then they offered him a treat fit for a prince. The offer was
made with leering smiles and wicked hints of tone and gesture. Behind the cottage there was a path of pale
cobbles half buried in the mud, white and brittle they looked and his feet slipped
on them as the creatures swarmed him toward their goal, a clearing in the woods
like a bald patch on a diseased scalp.
There was a slab there, a stone altar, rough and cruel and well
used. The old worshippers had altars
like this before their gods were purged with fire and salt. There on the altar was a maiden, still and
pale and as the stories would have you be assured, fair beyond measure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The stranger demanded to know what was meant by it, how
these misshapen brutes should come to have the company of a woman so
unmarred. The creatures smiled, or
scowled or drooled according to their nature and the leader of them explained
in sly words how they were commissioned to the work by a great man, and that
the lady was a pleasure fit for a prince.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The prince, they explained, would not visit until later and so if the gentleman visitor wished he could avail himself of the
lady. A modest donation to their coffers
would suffice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The stranger drew his sword and butchered the monsters. Their pale flesh parted beneath his steel,
their limbs fell jointed to the ground.
They did not resist even so much as a child might and died in confusion
that their gift should be so scorned.
When they fell dead the stranger tried to rouse the lady and found that
no power short of the final trump on the day of resurrection could do so. She was cold and still and would never rise
again from that brooding stone. What
surgeon’s art had preserved her in so fair a condition he did not dare imagine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He did not hear the prince, the heir approach. The young man was grievously wounded as the
prince slashed his face back and forth with his dagger decrying him as a slayer
of his loyal and secret servants, and demanding of him where he would find his
cold pale brides now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that is the tale I have told. I do not know if you smile or frown at it,
for my brother’s blade took my eyes that night so long ago, when our father
still lived.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the morning I will bring you your breakfast to fit you
for your journey.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Blow out the candle when you are ready my lady.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sleep deeply.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>In response to Our Write Side's prompt - <a href="http://ourwriteside.com/creepyseven-dwarfs/">Creepy Seven Dwarves</a></i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-92105866290797075962015-11-09T12:29:00.003+00:002015-11-09T12:36:45.940+00:00Apparitions<div class="MsoNormal">
Edmund Jenkin was not an old man but he was weary and
reaching the end of his resources. He
had been waiting for his caller who was overdue by an hour and he was
worried. The weather was bad but that
was not what concerned him. What
concerned him was that the time was bad, the days were bad, the enemy was
breaking through in ways they could not have imagined a decade ago and he was
concerned that these were the final days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he saw Jacob’s car draw up in his driveway he was not
so much relieved as resigned. There was
still work to be done. When he opened
the door to his visitor though he shook his head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You should not have brought the boy,” he said to
Jacob. The child was about ten years
old and seemed hidden inside a hooded coat at least one size too large, playing
some game on a smartphone that was occupying his full attention.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No choice Ed,” said Jacob, “His mother’s busy, I couldn’t leave him behind.” The two visitors entered the house and
Edmund disposed of their coats over a couple of hooks in the hallway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s your name then?” asked Edward of the child, smiling
awkwardly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Simon,” said the boy, “What’s your wifi password?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wi…? I don’t think
I have one.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The boy’s father laughed at Simon’s horrified expression and
installed him in the parlour while the two men went into Edmund’s study, a
cluttered room of books and folders and strange drawings pinned to the
wall. Jacob recognised some of the things
in the drawings and they made him feel ill.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s getting worse isn’t it?” he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Much worse. The
stars are right and the old ones are stirring in their strange homes. Their followers are awaiting their
return. Already there are manifestations.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jacob nodded, running his fingers over a pinned up pencil
sketch of a formless bundle of ropy sinew.
“There was a shoggoth in the Humber Estuary,” he said very quietly, “we
drove it off but it killed Elaine.
Marcus hasn’t spoken since then.
I think he’ll do something… rash… if he’s left alone. That’s why Sarah’s not here today, she’s
watching him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Edmund shook his head sadly. “I heard of that. The television said it was a chemical
spill. And the incursion in Fiswick?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They took a dozen of the citizens, nothing we could
do. Dragged them under the waves. Edmund… how are they doing it? They’ve never been able to accomplish so
much before.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The stars are right,” Edmund said. He opened up a book on his desk, a very old
book with brown and cracking pages.
Jacob knew the name of the book but wouldn’t ever say it aloud, its
reputation was so bad. The page
displayed was covered in spidery symbols, pen-strokes of dark ink that almost
writhed under the reader’s gaze. “But
even so… the simplest conjuration takes such concentration, such precision.” He instinctively tried to trace one of the
symbols with his finger in the air and stopped himself, clenching his fist
angrily.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We need to find a way to…”
Jacob sighed, “I’m stating the obvious.
What isn’t obvious is how to stop them.
But until we find their rituals, find out where they’re doing the summoning
from we’re always going to be on the defensive.” He picked up a copy of the Daily Mail, the
headline CANNIBAL IMMIGRANT RAMPAGE showed a blurry image of what were plainly –
to those in the know at least – two ghouls tearing into the crowd after a
London football match. “How did they
get so bold? How did they get so much
better?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“People believe everything and nothing these days,” Edmund
said sadly, “the occult is a joke to so many.
They do not understand how the edge of the abyss can crumble so quickly,
how deep is the fall that awaits us all.
If only we-“ He stopped suddenly
and looked around. The lights flickered
off and then on again a few seconds later and the walls of the house seemed to
groan. The renewed light was wrong
somehow, a greenish cast to it, the shadows fell wrongly, drawing inward toward
the centre of the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They’ve found us,” Edmund said, his mouth dry with
fear. He fumbled with one hand at the
talisman he kept in his waistcoat pocket, a silver square engraved with
number-squares that should be proof against the chaotic forces they too-often
faced. The silver felt slimy to the touch,
sticking to his fingers. “My God they’ve
found us.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jacob ran from the room to fetch his son. Whatever danger they had to face they would
face together and he could not risk them using his child against him. The corridor had twisted like a corkscrew
along its length though it looked no different and as Jacob tried to run down
it he fell from floor to wall to ceiling bruising himself and having the breath
knocked out of him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Simon!” he yelled at the parlour door, “Simon are you alright?” His words burned like ochre light in the air
around him as he called. The
answering cry was petulant.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just finishing the level,”
in a tone that meant ‘do not disturb me’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jacob crawled to the door across a carpet that tore at him
like shards of broken promises and he thrust the door open. Simon was safe though the room around him had
become a twisted mosaic of its original form.
The boy hadn’t even looked up from his game and Jacob lurched forward to
grab his son, to save him, to take him back to Edmund who was the most skilled
exponent of the arcane arts he had ever met and who might be able to protect
them all. A scream the colour of
corroded dreams echoed out from the study giving the lie to that hope.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Dad, leave it, I’m nearly done,” The boy was unaware of any risk, his finger
moving rapidly over the smartphone screen, and Jacob looked at the game for the
first time, really looked. Each time a
shimmering green symbol appeared on the screen the boy traced it almost at once
with his finger, and then the next, and then the next and the next, the speed
incredible, the accuracy such that only a child with a favourite game could
achieve. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jacob recognised the symbols, but he could not stop the
child at his game. He did not have time. The walls of the room opened inward like slatted blinds, noiseless and inevitable, and the things beyond the world looked in
hungrily and took them both.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-50123417258053508792015-11-06T12:31:00.002+00:002015-11-06T14:59:21.157+00:00The Cure<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.freeimages.com/images/previews/a89/staring-at-the-sunset-1172265.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://images.freeimages.com/images/previews/a89/staring-at-the-sunset-1172265.jpg" height="320" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eddie was a bright guy.
I met him at college where he was studying literature and poetry and he
had a real passion for it all. He had a
gift with words and loved a well crafted phrase loaded with booby-trap
cleverness. Away from his subject
though, away from the sphere of words and ideas he was different, quiet and
withdrawn. He never really spoke about
it, because people didn’t back then, but we all figured he was suffering from
depression or some similar condition. He’d
go through periods of quiet withdrawal and become a mostly silent presence in
our groups and gatherings, perfectly polite and amiable but offering nothing
except for the occasional clever spark of wordplay or wit that he couldn’t
resist breaking through. I suggested a
couple of times, gentle as you like because Eddie could take offense easily,
that he got help and that we only wanted him to be happier. “I’m okay,” he’d say, or “I’m doing fine.” And he’d smile and act better around me for a
couple of days just to shut me up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He mistrusted doctors.
He mistrusted medication fearing I think that it would make him less
himself, or dull his wits somehow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then he improved.
His mood lifted and stayed lifted, he began to smile more and laugh
more, and to suggest things to us all, things we could do together. We were all so pleased at this change that we
said yes to practically everything he suggested and our little group made
excursions to the coast, to the theatre and even to poetry recitals at his
instigation. The seaside trips and
theatre outings were good, let’s leave it at that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then the Daily Mail ran one of their shock horror
headlines. “<i>Killer Drug Targets
Mentally Ill</i>”. Underneath the lurid
screaming type was the typical scare story about something new that would
undoubtedly bring British society to its knees. This week it wasn’t immigrants or left wing
economics or young people listening to music, it was a new drug available over
the internet (“When will ISPs hand over all their customer data to the
police?” the article raged) that was supposedly a miracle cure for a wide
spectrum of affective mental disorders.
It was called Claritas, or Focus, or half a dozen other names and its
exact source was unknown. The drug
arrived (“shipped from clandestine sources” the Mail reminded us) in small
black boxes with a yellow logo and users experienced a new sense of drive and
enthusiasm for life. The article broke
down at that point and started the usual rant about foreign influences,
scroungers, the work-shy and people unable to stand on their own two feet. The last paragraph wiped the spittle from
its chin and mumbled about untested, unlicensed pharmaceuticals and the risk of
side effects. The USA it pointed out
smugly had banned Claritas outright.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mentioned it to Eddie later that day, thinking only to
share our usual mockery of the gutter press and its hamfisted propaganda. Instead of joining in though he scowled and
said quite bitterly that they didn’t know what they were talking about. Claritas, he said, had changed his life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That surprised me. He’d
always been cautious about drugs, medicines, even artificial sweeteners and he
was the last person I would have expected to try something so unregulated from
a peculiar online source. How are things
going with that, I asked carefully. He
lit up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Going great,” he said, “I can think again. I can enjoy the world around me. When I look at a flower I don’t just see the
flower anymore.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I asked him to explain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I see the flower behind the flower,” he said with a big grin, “the real flower. It’s hard to explain. I suppose you get in habits of thought, you
see what you expect to see. When you
look at a lily you see your own idea of a lily. Since I started taking Claritas I see the
lily itself.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The lily without the mask?” I suggested liking the image. He liked it too and agreed. I heard him using the imagery himself several
times afterward. The world, he said, was
made up of masks and it was good to be able to see its face now. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a month later that I saw another change in
Eddie. He’d turned up for one of our
regular gaming nights but he was quiet again and I wondered if his depression
had settled on him again, if the black dog had bitten. If it had it was worse than before and he
seemed sullen and defensive the whole evening, barely speaking except when
forced to and with irritation when he did.
I wanted to ask if he was okay, if there was anything I could do, but
the awkwardness of it all and the fear that he’d be upset by my intervention
made me hold back. He looked at me as I
held back and just shook his head, answering a question I hadn’t asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He came a couple more times to the gaming nights over the
next month and then just stopped. We
were all worried but nobody liked to intrude on him, especially if he was
having a hard time. I left him a couple
of falsely cheery voicemails asking him to get in touch and received only a
curt SMS “Am ok” in return after a couple of days. And then the Daily Mail ran another front
page article about Claritas. “<i>Internet
Drug Death Horror</i>”. A photograph of a
pretty young woman with a glass in her hand and the caption “<i>SONIA IN HAPPIER
DAYS – Parents blame Internet Death Pedlars</i>”.
The article was the usual stuff but upsetting. The woman had a history of depression and
had recently perked up, attributing her improvement to Claritas which she’d
purchased online. She’d recently started becoming withdrawn
and isolated and had posted a final message on her Tumblr account saying “I don’t
want to see any more.” And then she’d
jumped, and fallen, and died. The Mail
pointed out with glee that it had been warning about the dangers of the
internet for years and that the government should certainly step in to restrict
access to pornography and extreme beliefs and everything else that our
grandparents would have objected to on the basis of being immoral or too
foreign. It also quoted some of Sonia’s
previous blog entries and her growing fascination with and then fear of what
she described as “veils over the truth.”
They were, she wrote, being stripped away one by one and the joy of
understanding she wrote of in her earlier posts was being slowly replaced with
a growing paranoia.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This reminded me too
much of Eddie and his experiences. I
called him there and then inventing some cheery excuse to use while the phone
rang. It went through to his voicemail
and I didn’t bother leaving a message.
I took a bus and walked from the station toward his house. I was so worried for Eddie I barely noticed
that here and there I was having to walk round people in the street, people
standing still and not doing anything, just not doing anything. Other pedestrians were walking around them
in the sleepwalking shopping trance common to people in cities and I suppose I
was doing the same. Eddie was standing
outside his house, just standing there in his garden. He had a packet in his hand a black packet
with a cryptic yellow sign on it and no other markings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I called his name and he didn’t respond. His face was tilted
upward he was looking at the clouds, a typically grey skyscape for the time of
year. He was just looking, but so
intently it was unsettling. I could not
remember seeing him pay that much attention to anything, not even in his
college days. His lips were moving but
he was making no sound. I touched his
arm and he shook my hand off without breaking eye contact with the emptiness
above him. Foolishly, pointlessly I
looked around for anyone who could help, though what help I expected a stranger
to be able to offer I didn’t know.
There were passers-by, but I also saw others like Eddie, others standing
statue-still and staring upwards. Six
or seven on this street alone, just standing and looking upward with such
perfect focus and attention while everyone around just moved on and noticed nothing
outside their own heads.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I called Eddie’s name again more urgently, asked him if he
was alright.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“It’s time,”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Time for what?” I said, “Eddie, look at me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We have all laid aside disguise but you,” he said and there
was a tone in his voice, a hint that he was quoting something and not speaking
for himself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then he spoke more clearly, four words only, loud and
strong and clear, and those four words were spoken at once by every one of the
other upward staring visionaries in the street, and in the city, and as I
somehow knew all across the world, an answer given from some unknown other who spoke
through the voices of tens of thousands.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>I wear no mask</i>”<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">In answer to the prompt "Peculiar" at <a href="http://studio30plus.com/page/prompts">Studio30Plus</a> and the image of lights in the sky at <a href="http://lightandshadechallenge.blogspot.co.uk/">Light & Shade Challenge</a></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image courtesy of <a href="http://www.freeimages.com/photographer/Cna110703-55004">CDC</a> at <a href="http://www.freeimages.com/">www.freeimages.com</a></span></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-87415508703386805572015-11-05T09:00:00.004+00:002015-11-06T12:41:08.994+00:00Facade<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Originally posted in July 2013, resurrected here in honour of Halloween and my recent Lovecraft revitalisation)</span></i></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.freeimages.com/images/previews/b63/fairground-1455969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://images.freeimages.com/images/previews/b63/fairground-1455969.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Image by <a href="http://www.freeimages.com/photographer/Teessites-30938">Stephen Bickham</a> at <a href="http://www.freeimages.com/">www.freeimages.com</a></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You look a little tense. I think I know why. It’s because this is a fairground, and fairgrounds are a little… disturbing aren’t they?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t take it personally any more, but do try to relax a little while we chat. A lot of people find fairgrounds spooky, don’t they. Have you seen how many horror novels and films have them as settings? Theme parks or circuses too, I suppose. All part of the same set of tropes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s a lot of reasons for that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Firstly I suppose there’s an element of the Outside about fairgrounds. They come and they go, and the people who run them are not settled like most people. They travel. They arrive, they set up, they take your money in exchange for some rare entertainment and then off they go again leaving only muddy grass behind. Maybe that triggers the deep deep fear of the outsider, the stranger. The sense that these people are not like <i>us</i> and maybe they’re not playing by the same rules. Could be a touch of racism in there too, eh? Ever hear Cher singing <i>Gypsies tramps and thieves.</i> Love that song by the way. <i>Papa would have shot him if he knew what he'd done.</i> Makes the hairs on my arms stand up that line, imagining what had gone on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there’s the experience of the fairground itself. It’s out of the normal isn’t it? Not a habit. It’s a place that’s only there at certain times, so it’s always a little bit different, and not part of everyday life. Like a dream, all show and no substance, with bright coloured facades over grimy old cabins. Fun and flashy entertainment that, like fairy gold, is not all it seems. In the morning... it’s all faded away and a little bit tawdry.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps that’s why people find fairgrounds disturbing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or perhaps it’s the nature of the attractions. A maze of mirrors, all dark and distorted, and the lingering suspicion that the contorted dwarf or gangly giant in the mirror may be slightly more… real… than the you that is doing the looking, the soul of you, not so pretty as you'd like to think. And then there are the laughing clowns in their booths who are probably, almost certainly, most likely mechanical. But you don’t want to look too close at their hungry eyes just in case.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Relax. Relax.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve been running fairgrounds for most of my life now, travelling all over with them. Nobody knows more about them than I do, and really they’re very prosaic. Just another type of workplace that’s all. I’ve seen, oh, tens of thousands of visitors? Hundreds of thousands? Possibly more, who can say. And they come and they go; some of them wide eyed and wondering, some of them grumpy and bitter, some of them… like you… with a little bit of that old fear growing and spreading just behind their eyes and wondering just why you’ve always found fairgrounds to be so very unsettling.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps it’s a cultural thing. All those things I mentioned combining together and growing like a venomous pearl around a tiny piece of grit, some old truth, some real nastiness that once happened in such a place, at such a time long ago. More than once maybe. And the pearl swells and grows and glistens nastily and before you know it… Fairgrounds are spooky. So unfair really, stops you enjoying yourself.<br />
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Fairgrounds are places where you should be able to enjoy yourself. I do. I enjoy my life in my fairgrounds immensely. Every new stop brings new joys.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like you. You’re a joy just to look at, lying there all relaxed and… well not exactly calm, perhaps, but certainly… limp.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I know you can’t close your eyes, but try to focus on the music, such pretty music, while I change. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Do you want to know the real reason people find fairgrounds scary? Spooky? Disturbing? All the way back to the first travelling oddities that roamed in the shadows when the pyramids were new. Do you know why, even then, the fairground people were looked at sideways and rushed out of the bazaars, and why people dreamed a little bit darker when the show was in town?<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s because of me. Always <i>me.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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There. All changed. The mirror-me, you could say.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Let’s begin.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-65104187705562876242015-11-04T22:42:00.003+00:002015-11-06T12:41:08.990+00:00Momentary<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>(originally posted in response to a Trifecta prompt in 2013, reposted here in honour of Halloween and my recent resurgence of interest in all things Lovecraftian)</i></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.freeimages.com/images/previews/c89/static-1536652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://images.freeimages.com/images/previews/c89/static-1536652.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by <a href="http://www.freeimages.com/photographer/chairbeat-44290">Jon Spencer</a> of <a href="http://www.freeimages.com/">www.freeimages.com</a></td></tr>
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It was boredom that drove me. The drugs were simply for something to do. Acid, peyote, salvia, shrooms, they were all just things to do. I’d read Castaneda, and Huxley, and the others. The mysticism of it passed me by, the experiences all I wanted.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was introduced to Petrie by the friend of a friend. I loathed him. Petrie was too thin and smiled too much, like Death with a dirty joke he was waiting to shock you with.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You <i>really </i>want this,” he said and handed me a single blue crystal. It looked like a teardrop and felt like gel. I didn’t ask him what it was, wasn’t interested. He called it “HPL” and laughed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That night it melted on my tongue, bitter and lingering. I sat and watched static on my television and waited for the effects to kick in.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Time slowed and I could no longer move. Not breathe nor blink nor twitch. Each heartbeat rolled like a peal of thunder taking an hour from start to finish. Even that stopped. The television static was truly still now, a collage of visual gibberish.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I could not stop my thoughts. All else had stopped but not my thoughts. Time had ceased and only thought persisted. There was me, and there was an eternal moment that I would never be free of.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In my mind I screamed for centuries.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And my screams were heard.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The things that live in the gaps between moments came to stare. I cannot describe them, but they felt like the presence of the bereaved. And they came to stare at me like a freak in a sideshow. For milennia they came and soon I knew them all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Weep,” said Petrie after ten thousand years, and he pressed a glass tube to my cheek. I blinked then, only once, and a half dozen tears fell and became blue crystal in his keeping.<br />
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He smiled and crept away, and left me timeless.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-78859231580769343082015-11-04T22:30:00.000+00:002015-11-06T12:41:38.081+00:00Tentacles, Podcasts and More (oh my)<br />
As careful readers of my blog may have noted in between the weird stories and disturbing attempts at poetry I have occasionally made reference to my gaming hobby. I've been involved in role playing games since I was a teenager - too many years ago to count without wincing - and most of those years have been spent taking on the role of games-master, referee, dungeon-master, keeper or whatever the term de jour happens to be. Basically in those games of collaborative and communal story telling I always tended to be the one who laid out the framework of the stories, administered whatever rules were appropriate and played all the characters in the universe who weren't played by the players.<br />
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It's been a great hobby and I thought I knew it inside out and I suppose I'd become fairly set in my ways. That changed recently and though I've never considered myself to have a particularly narrow outlook on gaming it's started to widen out incredibly. I've looked into new games, new rule types, new genres and it's revitalised my gaming life as I've managed to find myself running games not only for my usual and long term gaming partners but also for their family members, for work colleagues who've expressed an interest and for people across the sea who I've never met except virtually.<br />
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There are a lot of reasons for this (displacement from some fairly trying times personally being one of them) but it's been facilitated by my discovery of new vistas of gaming mainly by my recent discovery of podcasts. I have a long commute to and from work and I recently decided to investigate the podcast app on my phone which I'd previously ignored. Were there, I wondered, any podcasts concerning my beloved roleplaying games.<br />
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Oh hell yes was the universe's answer.<br />
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One in particular has become my favourite.<br />
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<a href="https://rpggamerdad.wordpress.com/"><img alt="" border="0" height="115" src="https://rpggamerdad.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/cropped-familyheader2.jpg" title="" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a name='more'></a>The RPG Gamer Dad Podcast stands out from the crowd - and that's not to disparage the crowd. This podcast's quality puts me more in mind of a professionally produced radio magazine-show than anything else. Don't get me wrong, I also enjoy the podcasts that sound like friends sitting round a table and riffing off each other, but for consistently interesting content beautifully presented I go back to RPG Gamer Dad.<br />
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His shows are a careful mix of reviews, gaming news and interviews with gaming luminaries talking about their own work, creations and ideas. He also includes some wonderful actual play involving other members of his family (RPG Gamer Mum, RPG Gamer Boy and RPG Gamer Girl to give them their nommes des jeux) which I guarantee will make any parent want to explore ways to bring their own kids into the hobby. They've recently produced their own set of rules designed to be an easy introduction for younger players to roleplaying and I advise anyone interested to check them out <a href="https://rpggamerdad.wordpress.com/rpggamerkids-rpg/">here</a>.</div>
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Occasional episodes are given over to actual play sessions with adult gamers covering a wide variety of systems which show off roleplayers and storytellers at their best and showcase a lot of games I'd never heard of before.</div>
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And that's really the only downside of my new listening habits. Since becoming a regular I've spent more on new RPG systems than I had in the previous decade; I've heard game designers interviewed and thought I have to check out their work, I've heard play sessions and wanted to be able to do those myself, and in general my gaming life has kicked into a higher gear. And just as people with a dependency try to mitigate their habit in their own eyes by encouraging other people to partake, so do I recommend anyone reading my blog to give this one a try. The RPG information is informative and beautifully presented, the play sessions are great, the involvement of the kids is cute, charming and inspiring, and RPG Gamer Mum produces some of the most erudite stuff I've ever come across including some write ups of magical ideas that actually sound like magic rather than rules.</div>
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I could babble all day, but I won't. Go check them out <a href="https://rpggamerdad.wordpress.com/">here</a>.</div>
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One of the other podcasts I've discovered - and as a result of listening to RPG Gamer Dad - is the <a href="http://www.cafpodcast.com/">Cthulhu and Friends</a> podcast. This is centred around a campaign based on the fictional universe of the writer HP Lovecraft, dark horror, cosmic monstrosities and all. Unlike most actual-play podcasts this one has been presented in seasons, each season containing multiple episodes telling a continuing story of a group of characters and their adventures.</div>
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Again the quality sets this one apart. The role-playing is top notch with the players staying in character throughout, there's a bare minimum of non-game banter going on (the bane of many actual-plays --- in-jokes are only funny to the people that understand them and I can only listen to so many minutes of people laughing like drains before I find something else to do) and the keeper Veronica has a real flair for horror storytelling. I won't post any spoilers but will say that I have never been so genuinely shaken by the appearance of kittens as I was during season 1. I got hooked after hearing the crew being interviewed on RPG Gamer Dad's podcast and started listening from season one, episode one. I enjoyed every moment and honestly looked forward to each new episode as I played them back to back. I've just started season two and it's as good if not better than ever.</div>
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Cthulhu and Friends isn't really for kids though - not only are the themes somewhat adult but there is the occasional use of what I've heard coyly described as 'industrial language'. This did give rise to some interesting rules amendments though so no harm done, and nothing the average Brit wouldn't hear in Sunday School.</div>
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Listening to this podcast has refreshed my long-buried delight in Lovecraftian roleplaying and I've recently started running some adventures using Graham Walmsley's amazingly simple "Cthulhu Dark" rules. It's not often you can get a coherent rule set down onto a handful of pages but this one manages it, not least because the author understands what's important about Cthulhu inspired rules - which is really to focus on the characters, on the horror, and on the fact that if you try to fight one of the cosmic horrors of this setting you'll end up inside out. Graham is also the author of one of the best resources for dealing with Lovecraftian fiction in a gaming sense that I've ever read - <a href="http://www.cafpodcast.com/">Stealing Cthulhu</a> - which I recommend to any careful thief with an ichor-proof swagbag,</div>
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In honour of my newly rediscovered fondness for all things Lovecraftian I plan to post a few stories of that ilk myself here over the next few days since I have too many ideas buzzing around in my head that I can't turn all of them into game sessions (though who knows) and I may repost some of my earlier works in that vein. I hope you'll enjoy them</div>
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In summary then - after this unusually lengthy post - go check out <a href="https://rpggamerdad.wordpress.com/">RPG Gamer Dad</a> and <a href="http://www.cafpodcast.com/">Cthulhu and Friends </a>- if you're a fan of stories well told that aren't written down in advance you'll love them.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3565386894395739369.post-89407704587900365632015-09-22T18:05:00.000+01:002015-09-22T18:05:00.381+01:00Magic Dragon<br />
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He was sitting untouched by the noise and movement around
him, day-to-day face glued to his head, perfectly convincing. His hands moved over the keyboard, marionette
appendages on strings of habit.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Why are you doing this?” Binker asked him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He would speak to Binker, really speak to Binker. To others his words were read from a script
behind his eyes, one written by a drudging hack, a cobbled together pastiche of
remembered phrases and stock witticisms.
But to Binker he could really speak, though nobody else would ever hear
the words.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’ve forgotten,” he told Binker honestly, “It’s just what I
do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You’re punishing yourself,” Binker said, “But I don’t know why.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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He shrugged, actually shrugged with his numb shoulders, and turned the movement into
a stretch to cover his mistake. Someone nearby
said something to him. He said something
back which made them laugh. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’ve long forgotten,” he told Binker in the silence of
honesty, “But here I am.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Don’t you remember how many worlds there are to walk in?”
Binker said, his voice low, entreating, “ten thousand thousand shades of
sunlight, and every scent that ever blew on winds of hope? Walk with me there again and let us dazzle
the gods and outrage the raging storm.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You go on ahead,” he told Binker, “I’ll follow soon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Binker, who had never before left his side, did.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>In response to the prompt "Penitence/Remorse" from <a href="http://studio30plus.com/page/prompts">Studio30Plus</a></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Image courtesy of <a href="http://www.freeimages.com/photographer/humbleches-45953">Tim Chesney </a>at <a href="http://freeimages.com/">freeimages.com</a></i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17094349723028487644noreply@blogger.com2