Stuff.

Not much happening, but I'll give all of you a nice little video, here. Internal poetry day was on thursday, so the monthly poetry was on then. I'll put on the four poems I wrote for it:

They wander around the world,

Ditzy like a moth,

And wonder why we treat them like confused children,

They mispronounce words,

Or even worse,

Make their own!

It’s pavement, not side walk.

You annoy us so much,

SO be gone ye scum,

You Tourist from the land of America

Nightmares and tears,

Life is short, time is loss,

And then no body tells me,

Until to late,

That poetry is today and not tomorrow!

Night creatures and shallow fate,

Dark things march upon the worlds of man,

But these dark things are no much,

In the horrors of the universal balance,

Then to the abominations of humanities has inflicted

Just so they can apparently raise us to be the best,

But the it’s all a hoax, a fascist facade,

But the only other fate,

Is to be viewed as a commoner by society,

But less then commoner,

To be a peon, in a land of quadratic equational masters,

Who really needs to know what a graph looks like in numbers,

So how to speak in languages all but dead,

But still society marches us towards the points,

And still doesn’t show us the point,

Of what they teach in secondary school.

As common as muck.

As fleeting as shadow.

Eight legs, Eight eyes,

They scatter at my hand,

And wander undaunted,

To them, giants run away,

But I can not see,

What is wrong,

With the common spider!

(They’re better then lawyers for one!)

Did you enjoy those? Yes, good. No, buzz off. Here is the saturdy writing:

And insomnia is the ghost of a scream. The clock tick-tocked on the wall, and all other things where silent> Not that Philip cared, life had already driven mad. Not insane mad but angry mad. He looked around his room, alone, again. His double bed was all but empty, he was to small to fill even half of it. He groaned at the horror of it, so he sat up and walked to the window and stared into the empty city. SOme lights where on and most where off. A car screeched around the corner. A blimp hooved above it all, the words:

Loyal thought is good thought,

Loyal lies are white lies,

Loyal truth is THE truth.

Another blimp moved past, only revealed by it's shadow passing of the first. Phillip smiled, the whole world obeyed the law, and in every shadow another enemy. It was all a lie of course, to stop the populice from thinking. The last time any populice had really thought they got Napoleon as their emperor. Phillip giggled at the thought.

"What you laugh at, Shorty?"  Hissed a voiced from behind him. Phillip turned his head as a hand shot forth to his troat and pinned him to the window pane. He looked into the eyes of the attacker, the only part of his character's figure revealed beyond the clothes he, or she, wore. Phillip cursed under his breath as he felt a fist slam into and shot him through the window. Maybe he should be afraid of the shadows.

That one was based first on one book idea I've got, then a 1984 rip off and then a completly different book idea, which was is an odd way to write a story that would take about an A4 page. The second piece was based on some images of story cubes.

Johnny Johnny Jonhniton was a artist, thats all Frankie knew about him. Frankie kept bees on the top floor of the five story building. But seeing his room for the first time was completly different to what Frankie thought Johnny would have.  It had lamps made of turtle shells instead of lightbulbs. The floor was replaced his concrete in some places, with footprints scattered all over it. Pyramids of maskes scattered here and there, one made of scuba maskes, one halloween, and another just alien maskes. Frankie gulped, he wondered where Johnnie was.

"What are you doing here?" Said Johnny's voice, Frankie looked around to see where he was.

"Up here, Fattie!" Yelled Johnny, Frankie looked up. Johnny was hanging from the ceiling  from his wristes just above Philip, a frown on his face.

"What are you doing up there?" Asked Phillip.

"What are you doing down there?" Johnny Roared.

"Got your milk, and your door was open."

"It's only 8 am." Yelled Johnny, the midday bell rang on the church across the street. "Oh" Cursed Johnny. Frankie shook his head and walked away leaving the milk behind, stepping over crates with compass markings and miniture tear shaped fountains. He heard Johnny land on the floor behund him.

"Enjoy your day, you fat intruder." Roared Johnny, Frankie just shrugged.

Horrified!

After checking my email account today I forgot to log out so I went to youtube, and then bam! I'm logged into youtube, it's really worring how much google now owns on the net, gmail, blogger, youtube, and now google circles or what ever. It's scary, an internet empire. But aleast they don't own cracked, yet. But anyways, you not here to for my social commentary on the fall of humanity's independence to a corporate run super red state, your here for my writings, so here they are:

All three are based on one of six themes, the first one is based on the theme on romance, the second is historical and third is horror and comedy.
1) "It is 4am in the city. There is no one about. Sé walked around the alley ways humming all the time. For once life was good, no women to ruin it. He saw nothing wrong with women per-say but every time he had a date, bad stuff happened, and he always got broken bones. In the two weeks since he had let her, he had got that great job in the bank, a snazzy car in a bet, that ten tonne elephant was out of his penthouse and."
How do you get an elephant into a penthouse?" Asked Sean, Miles sighed.
"You know kid, I'm just trying to tell you the love story between your papa and you ma'am." Growled the bartender. "In sixty years I've been bar tending, I've never been desturbed in telling a story, not since I blackmailed the sea monkey guy. Anway Sé was walking down an alley onto the open street. Now it's the middle of night so he doesn't check for on coming traffic. Now as tough as you paps is he couldn't take a knock to the head via a ten tonne truck. Now out of the truck stepped out this beautiful red head, and as she stared into your father's eyes."
"So thats my mum I geuss." blurted out Séan, but the bartender shook his head.
"All that woman did was set off the events that caused your father and mother to meet. But it all so silly you could never make it into a Romcom movie." Continued the bar tender. "Possibly a bad romantic novel writen by some git face teenager forced to write it for some reason or other, BUT NOT A MOVIE."

2) It's 4 am in the city. There is no-one about. Except in one small ware house where a man is tied upside down while three other men looked on, two with baseball bats standing by a third who was seated.
"Well this is a nice way to treat guestes!" Commented the hanged man, the seated man shooked his head.
"Guestes don;t spy on their hostes for rival gang bosses. It's bad enough Chircargo already had Bug Moran and Al Capone leaving me little space for poor little me." Replied the seated man.
"So you think I'am a rival gangster." Commented the hanged man, the three men nodded.
"Or FBI." Yelled on of the clud wielding men, the gang boss and the other clubsman stared at him.
"I said Fed, not FBI. For a made man your pretty thick." Said the gangboss. The hanged man swung from side to side.
"Why do you kiddo?" Asked the other clubsman.
"I'm bored of waiting for you to murder me, I want my pinyata like death a little more fun for you." Replied the hanged man.
"OH, we're not going to kill you" Remarked the crime boss, a slight grin on his face. "We're going to make you sing."

3) It is 4am in the city. There is no-one about. Ronnie jumped from building to building, running from, what ever that thing was, this it! It jumped after him and the night hid it's form, only hes flash light showed the way. He jumped another building, he heard it's footsteps. An he ran on, knowing he had to stop somewhere, eventul. So he jumped the last gap, the other end of the building opened on to the street. He jumper half way, and then nearly fell down, he clung to the wall and looked backed, his flash light was dropped. It jumped the casasm, he pulled himself up. He looked down, the flash light showing the chimeric horror of his past. It had pale skin, red eyes, black fur, and worst of all, two scarves.
"Daddy, why don't you want to play with me and mister snuggles?" Asked the child as she raised her toy. Ronnie screamed, the universe's two scariest horrors, a teddy bear and a child  of his line, with matching scarves.
  Ronnie shot out of bed, and checked the clock. His sweet ran down his body, it was 12:00 am. He saw his wife walking into the room carring a steamy mug.
"What's wrong mi'darling?" Asked his wife.
"I had a nightmare, we had a child." His wife gasped. "And she had a teddy bear," His wife gasped again. "And they has matching scarves!" His wife gasped a third time and fell unconscience in shock.  Ronnie sighed as the liquid spread on the floor. Being a vampire ment you had to be careful with carpet.

 The that's all dude,
                         Jamie.

The Neutrino Attack!

I presume some of you have heard the news, they finally made a neutrino move faster then the speed of light which means that you can stick your tongue out to this old man! Bur what does this actually mean for man kind? Probally nothing much for a while, scientistes would probally deny it or get horribly confused. Not much happening in my life but here is my writing:
These first two poems are based on personal pet hates:

They call it a book,
But a bibliophile would have not love for it,
They call it a form of society,
all about sharing,
but you can't truly share that matters to both heart and mind,
that which it breeds the ill breeds,
Of fear, shame, despair, anguish, pride, envy, anger,
those mental pulse, that to which the heart beats,
tha which contorts the mask of humans,
and while we speak of that,
they demand of you to show your mask,
that is in their name,
but to tell everybody your age, loves, hates and location,
so the beast can hunt you, but not a beast of claws,
but one that takes your secrets and your choices,
and treats it like a whore,
selling them to artistes of the coin,
but all the while the net encroaches,
on the social and communication webs,
they trap you like a fly,
and everything is linked to this book of maskes,
to fill the throne of zucker's mountain,
but what is this?
It's Mark Zuckerbergs' Facebook.

What is so funny? What makes you laugh?
You're a fool, so I won't speak reason too you,
As Solomon did advise,
your sense of humour show to me,
you lack focus or interlect,
and when our actions are counted,
your jokes will not please anybody,
and will drag you down,
so go pester somebody else,
somebody who shares your taste,
for your crappy humour,
and for you wretched  artwork,
we get it, brainiac, you're a boy,
and I don't think,
that any meritocracy,
would value you,
so silence fool,
before I throw you into the devil's pool,
and let  you drown,
because I didn't pity.

This last one is a short piece called spindrift, although it has nothing to do with that:
Thelonious tapped his pencil on the desk. The three men sat across from him, looking like indentical clones of the same thirty year old man but with different coloured hair, one black, one red and one platnium green.  For some reason Thelonious thought that the last man's hair should have been blonde, but their suits where indentical cool, Thelonious wanted their tailor's number.
"You're a necromancer, right?" Asked the first one,
"Yes." Calmly replied Thelonious, he wanted to grin to his glee. They all frowned and the third one slammed his fist on the table.
"Stop being so non-chalant kid. We are the Johnathon Inquistiroial triad of the glorious Necromancer order's grave digger beureau!" Growled the man.
"I would, but you are interigating me in a common room of a children's hospital." Thelonious smirked.
"Shut up" growled the second one.

Sorry about that one, I didn't quite finish it. But here are some nice enough cracked articles. But since this week's had a breath taking event I had a thought, did the dinosaurs really die of a meteor? If you have any theories other then the meteor one, please leave a comment! Not much else,
the sorrow shadow,
               I, myself and wikipedia.

Not much 'appening

Not much 'appening. I'll put up this weeks writing:
The first one was putting twenty random nouns to twenty random adjectives and then choosing ten to put into a pros piece, they'll be underlined:
Every rain drop soaked through the gear and the like in the fortess. Marcus walked through the passages of the fortress, dubbed dreamy necromancer 17, like a lost child. It made odd sense to build a necromatic fortress in an offshore oil refinery, but did they hace to take a small dingy to get to the middle of North Sea?
Even that Cold Car was better then this place, only the counicl chamber was more inforgiving then that machine. Two necromancers, one in hippy clothes and the other in a scuba suit, passed by Marcus. Marcus let them pass before checking around himself to check for anybody else before kicking  a small panel on the bottom of a wall, he heard a click and looked around himself, he couldn't see anything and then he heard another click. He felt the ground open up beneith him and the rush of air across his face as he fell down. When he finally landed on the crash pad he groaned for a second and then pushed himself up and walked to the doorway and through the illusion of a perfectly sealed door, he felt a tingle as he did so, and he entered the council chamber, a secret room deep beneith the sea, the home of the Spectral Eight. The eight highest necromancers in existance, only one was actually in the room but the other seven where represented by holograms; Hating Sword: lord of North America; Fiery Jewel: Warden of Antartica; Lonely Scar:  Maiden of Eurussia; Crimson Night: Councilor of South America; Fifth Mirror:  Voice of Australia and Paciffic: Doomed Griffin: Thane of Asia; Gleeish Mask: Choosen of Africa, and The Nameless One, High master of All Necromancers. One of them handed him an envolope, he didn't know which one as they all wore black hooded robes. Tehy where incredible secretive, so secretive in fact that less then a percent of all high level Necromancers knew the location of the council chambers, so what ever was in the envolope was important.

The next one was a similar exercise but with Verbs and Nouns, and senteces not a whole piece, three also had Hiakus made for them:
1) The fire cried with drops of metal as it ripped an teared apart the forge.
2) The blood dreamed it was never cursed, for as it spilled in that battle between the man and the witch, the stone rotted rather then let the blood run along it's surface.
3) As the tempest flew over head it spat lightning and lashed at the men with rain.
4)The Leech familiar grew as it drained the blood from the hawk which mutated as a result into a cross of  a dinosaur, platapus and a bunny rabbit covered in feathers.
5) The ghost mutalted the boy with hands that danced in and out of sight that in life belonged to a champion who corrupted all before being scorn by a wyvern sage, by it large jaws of diamond hard fangs.

Hiakus:
Here the champion,
by his lying stories true,
corrupts all the youth

The tempest flew high,
but it was not in ill wraith,
As not a drop fell

As my wretched word,
Flew from my own wretched maw,
Rot forth all the stone

That's all folk,
          The Shadow Poet,
                                    Me.

Schoolentine

I don't know why just wrote that name, not much going here. My writing course has however returned to life, and some newbies have taken an earlier slot, so us literary journymen. So here the writings:

The first is an idiom based poem I call:
Word Play
Can't teach an old dog to be a poor mans doctor,
Hold your doctors away for a day,
As one fool recognises a gift horse,
And a lead ballon should never call a kettle black,
cus' thats just damn racist!

This reminds me of a Monty Python sketch that is very, um, political incorrect!

This othe one is pure theivery, it is based on the priniciple of the poem My Love Has Fared Inland, by Medbh McGuckian, that is taking all the lines for the poem from an autobiography. We were made to do a similar thing, but with different biographies, I got Cash- the autobiography of Johnny Cash, the numbers show the page I got that line from:
I was convinced it was there,  -192
I was about ready to kill him, -174
I love playing for country people, with their graciousness and quiet appreciation, -117
and he had real enthusiasm, -86
I even had a title, Late and Alone, -276
but it really caught my attention, -163
and having girls all over me, -74
we call it unit one. My cacoon, -51
The next time I saw him, -94
Perphaps in the late 50's or early 60's, -154
I can't remember how long I had been up, when I wrecked him the first time, -162
I've gone and got it sevral time since that first attack, -199
So he found trumpet players, came on up, arranged the song and ran the session, -217
Terrible news came today, -280
Long Bihn at the time was 'hot' with patrols and sweeps, -236
 going out and enemy rockt and mortar rounds coming in. -236

Not much else; but here are so good internet games for you guys.

 The beastless,
                   I.

New Year of School, New Year of Pain

Hey y'all, Summer is over and, wait, did we even have a summer this year? There was more rain then days were days of natural blue. Not much going on but as a returnie to school I must complain about homework, and work and space mutants, for something or other, but space mutants must be complained about or else the sewer mutants will rise up in a devolution revolution! Sorry about that just been futurama recent, new episodes and all. Writing hasn't started yet but I've got to go to a Meitheal graduation ceremony, which means I will official start Meitheal work. I haven't done much work for the summer but I've got some poems for you guys from the last two Kinsale Poetry Evenings that I wrote:

Macabre boredom, Serial Sorrow,

The end to this age of nothing is nigh,

And now I am doomed,

But from when I had nothing ta’do,

I’ll soon get too much to care,

So I despises the rising hours of fearful hate,

For September is nearly here.

Frostbite Ode

I’m in an odd little mood,

But I think I’m perfectly sane,

All I want is frost bite,

It’s cold bites and certain death,

I’ll even take Acid burns, stab wounds and man eating insects,

Anything but these damn sunburns!

A man made forest sitting on the sea,

The dream of many a man,

But they sleep standing in this idle hour that no man sleeps.

By an ancient and mystic grace, a noble beast of the night,

By the glory of the sun he walks by the grace of a ballerina,

He laid asleep all day to collect that grace,

A walk like a model’s show,

Here is a miniature tiger, A panther in tabby,

A feline friend and companion.

When you are in hell,

Just to torture you,

Another year of pain.

How I wish to throw them into a gutter

And fry them in butter,

For my pies,

A meat like no other,

Fills My teacher and gravy pie.

One for boredom,

Two for homework,

Three for break to lunch (unless double),

Four for detention,

Five for plasticisation

Six for a full day (With the doubles)

Seven for,

AW damn it,

Do have to say anymore horrors,

That teachers bring?

  Yours truly,

          The Abyss One,

                               Jamie.

  

The Final Blogdown

Okay, so this is not going to be my final blog, but it will be the only one for some while, so unless something big is coming up, don't expect any more postings. We only got one piece of writing done this week, we spent to much time talking and we did do another piece except it's for this library competition on Paraxis.org. And it was not finished so, eh.

        He was a lot bigger in person

Pino stared at the boy, sure he wasn't exactly tall, 5 foot single digits something, but he wasn't short either. Pino was expecting five foot at tops, stupid lying prince.

" How d'you do squira." Asked Pino, the young man looked across the counter ans fidgeted with various gidgets and gadgets for sevral seconds, trying to build suspense,

"I want something very, specfic, from you." Stated the young man, his voice as cold as ice,

"Pinochino's cana get, or make, anything of gadgeteering and small scale engineering industry, so what do you wan'?" Inquired Pino, the young man turned to stare at  him,

"Information" he said, his cold attitude of his demener literaly made his breath cloud up. " About Charming's Location." Pino gulped down his breath, this was going to be a bad day.

Very short, I know but hey that's the world. As I said I don't having anything foing on and the writing is on for a while, and I don't have ideas of what to write down here, so, oh wait. I advice on watching a tv show called The Cape, it's good old fashion crime fighting without any super powers, enjoy,

   the sad blogger,

              

                  I

Blogging time

Iowa, Iowa, Iowa! I don't know why I just wrote that, but hey! Who gives a fiddelers hair!? Not much happening this week, but Kinsale Artweek was on, *Sarcastic voice* YEAH!
Now, onto this weeks writings;
 This first one was based on a picture of sevral cassettes. Read this on Transformers to understand the story, a little.

Vant looked down at the cassettes.
" You think we should build our spy drones like cassettes?" He asked, Dr.Zog nodded.
"Small, but enough mass for a robot." He replied, with a sincerity that told Vant Zog wasn't joking.
" There is one major fault with your master plan," Commented Vant in a condisending tone, Zog put his head forward and smiled in underserved hope. " No-one has used a cassette for, oh, A Thousand Years!"
Zog pulled back in shock, awe, horror and an emotion that I can only describe as Cinnamon-like.
" But, But Sir!" He Stummered;
" I don't care for excuses! We have plans, so stop delaying them!" Roared Vant.
" But, this was in the original show. The one your plans are based on, they even made toys of the cassette-bots!" Zog replied in confusion, Vant was stunned for a second, and then started to laugh; Of Course! Why didn't I think of it before, TOYS!

The next one is a poem based on some non-sense words;
Red Sab-Dyte
A Forgottern lake,
A Mountain Lost,
In all the ages of man,
no battle is as famous, or as lost,
At the valley between the mountain of Sab
and the crystal lake Dyte,
lays a field cloaked in Veridian grass,
And that lone warrior
Said it's beauty was lost,
to waves of red,
and hills of the dead,
He was the last,
who gave the field's name,
Sab-Dyte,
And between that Lake and Mountain,
that battle has only one name,
Red Sab-Dyte.

This one was based when we where each given a piece of paper, and had to choose an object in the room, and write on the paper a question that object would ask if it could talk. We then folded the paper and handed it to the next person. They wrote the answer to their object's question on the paper and then handed it to the third person who wrote a poem based on the two now revealed lines, here's my poem:

Am I alive?
I'll never know for he's too far away and I have no legs,
And I cannot yell or whisper,
and he never comes here to listen,
or maybe he can't,
these chains bind me,
and I can't stop the rats,
only the heat of the furance will stop them,
as all to often I catch one,
and kill it,
and cook it,
Noble men would call it Savarery,
I call it survival,
But in the end why do I try,
I'll never be released from this pit,
and those who both could and would free me,
are either imprisoned or lost,
so if you read these lines,
never give up your hopes in this pit,
but never raise them either.

Not much going on really, I haven't gone to anything for K.A.W. except an ABBA tribute band, who sucked. The warm up band was far better, that band was called the popazettas or something,  but beware they are moe-town!
   The Old Boring one,
                       Me

Late, Again

Sorry this only came out on Monday, but My dad made us make concrete all day on Saturday, which has hell, and not fun at all, but here is my writings from last Saturday;
The first piece started with a single line;
"What's wrong with you" she asked, I stared back at her and turned off the lights in my eyes to give the impression of blinking.
" I could ask the same of you" I retorted she pulled back in shock. "you humans think that you only have the right to rule since this is your plaent so you rules. But what happens when you go elsewhere, hmph?" She was stunned at this statement and stumbled  in her words for an answer. "the simple fact is you humans would declare war, or genocide, or an alien holocaust, might in it's form, and might makes right." I continued.
"No, No we wouldn't" replied the blonde female human. "Thats what you would do. Thats what you're doing here!" Her voice was more raised in fury. " And now you've started to fight amongst yourselfs!"
"Now you're proclamation is wrong, Sentinal Prime isn't a Decepticon, just an ally of my father." She was clearly shocked at this, I gave a grin. " Oh, Oh yes, A Decepticon has a dad. Well get this missy, Megatron is my father just as the human male that spawned you is yours. But unlike you, I know when to sever connections. So until we meet again, remember this name, GALVATRON!"

The next one is particular type of character describing the room where out writing class is in. I got a young woman from an Amazonian tribe;
  The space was closed, and nothing was open, unlike home. The greens and browns of my homeland where replaced with white and beige and a brown more red then I was used to. Sevral branches ran across this space's canopy rather then the canopy growing forth from it. I could see sunshine through what seemed to be empty space, but were actual cold, solid air, it disturbed me not abit, but alot. but more light came from these gold encased orbs that were half-way between a star and the sun in their magnitude of light. No animals except a small black jaguar like creature walked in this space. A tree trunk emereaged at one corner and rose up in a gap in the canopy, with strange flat branches sticking out, almost inviting me to walk on them. sevral bushes like things clustered together, the outer ones reached upwards at one side and the central ones having no such growth. It was odd as the out ones in one group had hides like animals while the other group has no such foliage and looked like the insides of branches. This is truely strange realm.

The last piece is a person describing a movie they saw to a friend. The movie was Pan's Labarynth and the character is a Homeless Alcholic (read it out to get a better idea of how it is supposed to work);
 So I was *Hick* wandering these streets and then that gothe shel*Hick*ta, thought *glug,glug,glug* it would be nice to show is that movie, whatisi called, *hick*, oh yeah, Paens Lebreonth. *hick* what do ya' mean I pre-nincing it wrong, it toesn't matter, ya know 'hat I'm talking abouttt annie-why. You've gotta see it nate, your missing doubt *hick*glug,glug,glug*. It's set in World war 2 Spain and this little girl who's moving with 'er mum do their new hime withe the moutvers new 'usband. *hick* But I won't ruin the pot, but she meets this haun. *glug,glug,glug*. What do you mean what is a laun, it's a 'alf goat halv man naturn spirit-thang, *glug,glug,glug*. Annie-why need I regress, *hick*, this faun sends the little girl on free taskes to complete her dezintie, *hick*, I'm not 'elling you her dezindie, you have to watch the film to find our, so I won't tell you the turd task, *glug,glug,glug*, no it doesn't invoble s'it or skewers *hick*, but the virst task invovles getting magic 'olf bols inta toad *glug,glug,glug* what d'ya mean what's deir colour, I said it waz told, and *ugh(falls asleep)*


Hope you enjoyed those, not much going on (except concrete making) but I decided to give you guys a little treat; a report on the newest Transformers film, it is CRAP. It's got plot holes so big the whole cast can drive through them without any problems, and there where so many potential things they could have made the film great, like having it be seen through the eyes of a young decepticon, ( The first writing was based on that idea) or some other awesome idea. Also to much human action, Michael Bay must realise that Transformers is about giant robots, not humans.

BBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNN JJJJJJJJJJOOOOOOOOOOVVIIIIIIII

Sorry about that, it is however necessary, after all I went to the Bon Jovi concert on Thursday, which was possitivly awesome, but we had to wait two and a half hours between entrance and when Bon Jovi starting to sing. There where two bands before them however, Fallen Drakes and Vintage Trouble. The first was Okay and the second was far better, but not Bon Jovi good. Any way your not here to read about that, your here for my writing course work, I hope;
This first one is poem based on five words which I'll highlight, and underline, the in this Gold.

Upon the yonder hill,
what secrets of men lie hither,
too many questions unasked,
screams of the universe's smallest sliver,
the warts of the past,
the rose of scandel,
Things that matter and not,
all mixed together, like stew in a pot,
questions no-one knows for,
like do jellybeans have mind,
or rats their own language,
and can cats stand on two legs
if bacon is involved?
Maybe Yes, Maybe nay,
but hay?
who really gives a f***

This next one was inspired by a picture in a ladybird book for children. The picture of sevral Pylons streching into the forest and was in a book about England's electricty supply;

Pylon after pylon stretched through the forest for as far as any eye could see. Maxim smiled or grinned, he couldn't really tell. You know you have to know exactly what you do at every moment or when you do something big you'll coc-

  And then The Writer died. Ernest Bloodhound sighed, got out of his seat and walked to the desk infront of his. The Writer haid was slumped on the type writter, which churned out random letters before stopping at the end of a line, it was one of those old typewriters that you had to push a gizmo to go for the next line. Ernest sighed as he pulled out a flare gun and shot into the air. All the authors un the room turned to the centre, too The Writter's desk. After a second or so sevral detective and meds jumped down from the roof on their ropes and started their work. Ernest tried to remain calm, but The Writer, the government's greatest author dead. All the world's authors would be in shock. From the day they had finished their state essay they had been chosen to write novels, pamphlets, movie scripts and the like, whether government commission or of their own free subject choice. And The Writer was the best ever, and as No.1 he sat in the middle of Warehouse Alpha and now his love of writing and Lady-bird easy reading books had come to naught, how was modern ltrature going to be judged? On the guide lines of the writers before the modern empire! Ernest sincerly hope not.

The last two pieces are two hiakus that where supposed to be opposities of one another, based on frostbite and burns;

The Breath of Winter,
Oh be gone ye jaws of cold,
Leave me be frostbite

The Fires and Sun,
Unleash that horrific blight,
in burns of the skin.

   Hope you enjoyed those, and sorry about this being three days late but it was just that I kept losing my drafts of this blog and it is pissing me off, so I'll just write this off and finish.
 The Angry Blogger,
                 Me

For once on time

After the last two posts it's now nice to getting back to a regular deposition in timing of blogs. And I nearly missed this as my parents decided to dig a whole, great, effing great.
 Here is the writings, the first part is messing with syntax of the writing, or the order of the words, the sentences I messed up our the first three sentences;

The Bear Roared Loudly.

Jack subsequently died of freight and Charlie Green head exploded.

The night was Chilly and so was Hal.

Roared bear the loudly.

Fright of Charlie, head and Jack exploded? Green Subsequently.

Chilly so? The was and! Night was Hal.

  Was fright loudly, subsequently Hal! And head so night of roared? The green bear, Chilly the Jack was died exploded.

  Hal and fright was, Chilly so Exploded? Died of Jack loudly! Charlie Head so; green bear the, night.

This next one is a poem based on an item in the room, try and guess the item;

  I flare and die,

My job is simply to melt away,

I’m given a flaming heart,

So that they may see,

But I see those glass bulbs,

They shine, but not by some wicked flame,

Oh, what a sick life I’ve got,

If only I could scream, my spine is incinerated,

My flesh vaporised,

If I could only scream, there would be no poetry,

Or romance, or light in a powercut,

Only my scream as I’m burnt away,

To be the slave of flame,

A single flame, the single thing I know,

Who is likely to have a shorter life then me,

For I’m a voice bound in my own flesh,

Wax.

This third piece is an  deep detail of a character, it's a little odd, thats what it is;

A spidery frame, thin arms stretching forth from his t-shirt, which hung from his forth like a flag, he was just that much skin and bones. His Denims had thin legs but even those failed to exaggerate his features, for only his legs where skinnier then his main body. His feet where uncovered and scared from walking over stones, but their considerable length out did his legs which where short and squat compared to the rest of his lanky body. His face was continuing with the thin theme, and his moustache was twirled like that of a mad genius. His hair was short and only the strength of it’s red colour differentiated it from the cut of soldiers. His eyes where deep set and his nose long and extended, it’s hook extremely exaggerated. He had side burns which went to his chin, which was completely bold. His face was beset with wrinkles by the bucket load, and his teeth, well, they where perfect, all white and crisp, they looked more like pearls then teeth.

This final writing is we wrote one or two word on a piece of paper, hid the words and passed onto the next person. The Italics are mine, the bold is Ellen's and the normal is Virginia;

The Neon dream fly a yellow void.

The forgotten hot air balloon cooks a sleepy maze.

The blue tree wanders a translucent chair.

  Not much going on but the Leaving and Junior Cert have finished, so I won't get to paid for sitting on my ass anymore. But I just drew mazes, which are as hard as hell, MAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! I've been watching a Youtube series called legend of Zelda Abridged by Adamwestslapdog, I give you a link to the first episode, here. Unfortuantly the sequal series was never continued, which sucks.Not much else going on but if anyone wants me to comment on something leave me a comment,

    the unemployed couch potato

 

One week no Blog

'Ello, 'Ello, sorry about no blog last saturday but I had no writing, also not much was happening. The only thing was that the Irish state exams started on Wednesday last week, and I've been sitting outside the test rooms to make sure no-one cheated in the corridors, which if I had not been writing my first novel, I would have gone mad. The novel will be called The Silver Viper and will be a (sorta) Science-fantasy, and I'm not going to be putting up any of it so you'll have to wait for it, but I'm also not sure about how book copyrights work, so I'm not risking anything, I'm really sorry! But enough chit-chat,  time for this week's writing;

       This first one is speed writing with the title of DEATH OF THE CLOWN;
The circus was burning down, and Mr.Bam-Boom-Boom grinned an evil grin. All the little children would cry and ask questions, the animals would run wild and maul people, the midget would be crushed and that one clown would have his face melted as his wig burned, oh yes, sweat vengeance, sweat, sweat vengeance. He has now paid for that malicous act, and Mr.Bam-boom-boom would be freed from that one memory, he just had to do an evil laugh.
      Dr.Elk stared into the padded room as the patient laughed madly. Poor case, a child genius traumatised by a clown, a jar of high quality pickles, sevral carrots and three hundred issues of the Empire magazine and now has lived for three years inside the Asylum, unaware of the world around him and stuck in some sort of dream.. If it had been thirty years Dr.Elk would have 'removed' him, a waste of space, life and resources.

This next one was inspired by a map of Oxford done in Ye Olde Style:
   Caydis looked at the public map on the outside wall of the tavern. He was amazed how all the temples, Villas and colleges where scattered over the back of the islands of Calicon. Calicon was a city built on a archipelago between the sea and the great Lagoon of Eaan, and streched between two pincers of land that seperated the lake and the ocean. Only the palace and  the Senate where not in the posh area, but on one of the pincers of land. Caydos touched the map with a finger and the area he touched enlarged and showed the street in greater detail. By a building marked South Western Tram Station was a smaller building simply called Guild-House 'Iron-Angels'. He touched a small button on the bottum left corner which changed the map from streets too the layout of the tram line. Which he studied and smiled, like the guide said; Bosan port row had a tram to the Soutn Western tram station, but where was this stop? Caydis turned to face down the street and see four post with clocks not alligned to the proper time, that must be it.

    This one was inspired by a picture of a disected worm;
The worm was hungry, it's jaws gnashed themselves, he had never had a set of jaws before, but then again, he had never thought of anything before. His primative and primal mind was content with just eating and digging, but no more. Not since that voice had changed him, that sweet soft femine voice, with only the very slight undercurrent of an undertone of the most diluted form of the weakess anger ever to exist. He was changed, now he had scales, and jaws, and claws, and fangs, and horns, and a tongue, and a brutal intelligence, an itelligence with one food source, one duty, humanity. The voice had told him the world had suffered by their wicked, greedy and unrelenting hand, and now they must, DIE! It saide their meat was a sweat as compost but he didn't care, no longer a mortal beast, he had a new, unsatified craving, one all consuming hunger of a desire, the screams of man-kind.

This one is a mutliple person piece, my line is normal, Virginia is bold and Ellen is italic;
   The sun was shinning, today would be perfect for a good day for eating Ice-Cream, which is why he ate Fondu. It was so sweet, he thought he was going to melt like candy-flan. The Sweet goodness seeping into the open wounds on his lips mage him laugh in delight.

 Who enjoyed those? Well your kinda of sick if you do, or I'm deluded about humanity. But not much going on but I got my test results, all A's except for Irish and English, I'm awful at Irish anyway, so you might ask why I didn't do well in English, I'll tell you. Not to be insulting to my English Teachers, but the english course is like a lobotomy with club. It's not good for the creative world, also it's killing of the poetry business, and it has no real purpose, but I think it should be focused on Journalism or Report writing, honestly it would be better as people would be getting marks for a skill they'll need in their lives. The only other thing I've been doing is playing a video game called Spectrobes Through The Portals, does anyone else play it?
    The Dark Turnip Eater,
                             Me
              

I am really, really, really, really sorry about being late, again.

Sorry everybody that I'm late with this blog post but, I got hold up on Saturday with some stuff and I don't go on computers on Sunday, partly as a break from the computer, but also to keep the Lord's day holy. YES, I'm religous, get over it.

           Kinsale has a poetry night every first friday of the month in the Kinsale Book Shop and I went their for the first time last week, which was fun(nish). Here are two poems I put forward last friday:

Bitter-Sweet Liberty

Liberty is an honour

Not a taste most are allowed to enjoyed,

And now summer is here,

But I cannot shed even one tear,

For we are free,

But only from freedom,

As summer has risen,

And the testes are gone,

But I’m still alone,

And only a distant memory of a forgotten shadow

Omnipotent Flame

Rising above us all,

Staring it above us on a thrown most tall,

This judge of god, wraith of summer,

Which melts our mind till we are dummer,

Who burns us in a wave of heat,

But gives of the light to ripen the wheat,

Who are we to judge that star?

He is immortal, We are mortal,

Doomed and damned and cursed and vile,

So who are we to judge the Judge of God?

So what do you all think of those two little poems? I'll now put up the stuff from my regular Saturday writing course, both are stream of consciousness style of writing. Basically the internal monologue of JD from Scrubs but writen not a voice over.

Scott watched the fire ball in his hand.
 How I love the dance of Flames, like a hundred people dancing to the music in a disco. How I miss Charlseton's dancin'-'all, it's blaring light, the glory of the DJ box, and how easy the girls fell for me.
Scott sighed his thoughts and threw the fireball at the carriage side making it disapate into smoke.
 I miss home, but I can't go back, it's just ruins now, burnt by my hand. Argh, I never asked for this, not now, not ever. The fire in my hear burns a hole into reality, and sure I've got superpowers, but 40, I won't live long enough to do anything. I'll just be an old withered man ready to die on some street, and I'll won't get any support for my life from government. I must find those shards, I've got two already.
Scott looked at his hand as it imergedfrom his pocket.
They're beautiful, like glowing rubies, but wait why isn't that part glowing? Ah shit, they've cut me again! I'll need a bag for them, or I'll bleed for the fire wing. How I hate my existance, orphaned, cursed, hunted and now cutted. How much worse can it be? Some alien abmomination jumping down from the ceiling and ripping open my guts and eat my liver? I've already had to deal with super natural horrors, why not Sci-Fi? Well at least the walls of this carriage would be painted a nicer colour then grey of teacher. Now if only had some spray cans, Ha!

That was based on novel idea I've got, which I'm starting to think I should write it like that, I would be interesting. The next peice is just some set alone writing, but it's got a hyperlink, so enjoy the video on Cracked!

Craig spat into the chocolate vat.
Why did I do that? It's a cruel expiriment, horrible and no-one will probally notice. It' not like the spitle will survive, the chocolate would be as smooth as ever, as sweet and true. My I'm evil, but they deserve it, I've my whole life for a higher quality of chocolate, and they just scoff it down like the cheap stuff. It's not that I hate the cheap stuff, I just despise the habit it creates, no appriantion of their chocolate anymore and they keep on treating it as the low quality junk, so they deserve what they get. The cheap chocolate us like the stabilizers on a bike to help support the child in their first few cycling trips, not give them bad eating habits when it comes to chocolate. It's to get them hooked to chocolate, Oh wait, that makes chocolate sound like a drug. Should stop watching Cracked videos in how cereal mascots are drug pushers of the cereal, stupidly brilliant Cracked!

I like Cracked, it show you all sort of fun facts like; how to prove if a real man is also crazy, Ten plants that are absolutly insane, the vehicles of real (insane) animals, and six things science can't explain! So now you can reach true (*cough**Cough*) Enlightenment. Also they have classic photoplasty competition's which rock like crazy. I hope you will also enjoy this stimulating critque of modern life that is http://www.cracked.com/, and yes I did just hyperlink it again to emphises my point!

 Last week I had my summer testes and for some reason I just did squat awful;
AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But at least I got holidays, YEAH! But then I had an accident on Wednesday, to which I fell onto the ground and sevrely hurt my lower back ( back, not botox before you say anything.) And I was in cripping pain for the rest of the week, more, well, um;
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Also sneasing hurts as it force me crumple my body ans cause excutiating pain,
  The painful one,
                Me, Myself, and an eye!

A few hours later then usual

Hey all, life is so-so today, and that is that. This post is a few hours later then most, but that is not import, Ellen was not in writing this week, which is import, as it means the writing activities where not that great:
The first was about putting together verbs with nouns, they'll be coloured and underlined.

"And that is how a dragon killed my entire home city except me!" Boasted the bold man across from Caydas. Caydas just stared at him and pointed at the door, to which the ruffian walked to in much digust, this was going to be a long day. So he tapped his fingers on the desk waiting for anybody to come. He placed a crystal on a stone and spun it, carving a picture on the slate. He missed his home but the dancing crystal reminded him of the glories of his city. He was about to get out of his chaor and leave the recruitment centre when a shadow meadered across the slate, the stone faded from the light.  The shadow was monsterous in form, like some sort of flying fiend, a destroying monster, something that if you killed, it's blood would hunt you down and drown you, painfully. He looked and saw not one but three figures. A smaller then average green skined Orc, to whom gadgets and gizmos hung to, a rather bald gnome with a large axe and a human girl with dragon horns, tail and wings, in expensivly posh but pratical clothes.  The girl bent down to go face to face with Caydas.
" Ye want to join my group?" Asked Caydas, the girl raised her eyebrow,
"You're the only one here, so I geuss you woild be joining our group." replied  the girl.
"Actual I've got a robot wizard and a human, but nymphomaniac, ninja. The only thing is they haven't meet yet." Retorted Caylas.
" So normal trees lie and birds guard-" The girl as the door smashed down by a blast of magic and a machine ran across the room being chased by a female, and rather buxom, ninja, with the robot screaming:
"Catdas, save me fro this madwoman!" Caydas simply dropped his head to the table, this was going to be a very long week.

This other story started with a line page 999 from a book:
" The french also being the most sociable, vanist and least selfdependant." Read Thane outloud to his cohort, who shook her head in relpy.
"Too well known a country, and that hardly describes their ambassador to this meeting," Said Lucius as he walked into the room, Thane and his cohort, Margret, looked at him.
"He is mostly untouchable and doesn't mind comments on his misstress. Bloody French Bastard." Continued Lucius " Thats why I've picked who we are going to blackmail, the ambassador from Licheinstein. I've found plenty of blackmail on him, mostly deals with terrorist. Perfect for fighting those damn Americans. Suzzy and Clark are already on the job." Thane thought for a second about this;
"So Mr.Cain, what are we doing for this plot." He asked Lucius smiled,
"Thane, you're making masks of you, Margret, Suzzy, Clark and Me. Margret you get the dry cleaning back five o'clock. We've got to arrange an alibi so interpool can't pin this on us, even though the evidence on camera says otherwise.

This week was only so-so, our graduation was so SSSSSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEDDD,
I had to make a speech on BT Young Scientist, Yeah! ( Sarcastic). And our funday was only so-so, I don't know why. I think I got legal depressed, I'm not quite sure. But that's not all the evils in my life, I wasn't invited to a party on thursday, AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!! But  I don't care after a certain point, modern-mainstream-music is just annoying.
Actuall, has anyone seen the New Scrubs episodes? I think Lucy is just to winny to be a good lead character. Dew is a much better character to follow then Lucy, he is snarky and clever, like a young Dr.Cox except without a ponytail ( Mentioned in one episode.), plus he would have an excuse for the voice in the head, he didn't haven't anyone smart enough to talk to in, so he created a voice in his head to talk to.
Two Last things:
1) Watch this video, it give some good points on it's subject, and watch the others.
    &
2) Martin Woodhose doesn't quote Chuck Norris facts, he says something and suddenly Chuck Norris can do it!
         The Random Quoter,
                                    Myself

Some hell of a exciting (boring) week

The hour of joy has arrived, I'm putting up another post. Today, might be the apocalpse but if you read this beyond tomorrow, don't worry, unless seven angels are on the news for giving speeches at sevral speeches, then we're SSSSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDD
But otherwise okay. I'll now put some writting onto this blog. The first I had to use five particular words, they are in italics:

Morgan danced around the room,
His feet pranching across the attic ceiling,
life was sweet,
life is sweet,
life will be sweet,
as his enemies fall and his fortunes rise,
so the world rumbled,
as you stagger in his shadow,
your life broken, like a fallen vase,
as your corpse is beyond a fence,
which hides those demon beastes,
of that madman's twisted ambition.

The Next Twelve are Haikus about the classical elements. They are in groups of three for each element, in order the elements will be shown as: Air, Fire, Water, Justice.

Oh Sky Eternal,                           Endless Wraith of air        Electricity,
You can be grey, blue and red,    Oh Justice of Hurricane    The Thunder of this weak race
ceiling of the earth,                       no man can match you      blood of our cities
Ps: I count Lightning as a part of the air element

Oh ye Blissful Sun,                     Volcano, please sleep,                 Great and Mighty Forge,
Thine heat and light give us life,   Your lava blood and flame bile,   bend the ancient will of earth
Day made only for you               are a blight to life                         Scion of the heath

Oh Noble sea vast,                  High and great Winter,                   Enjoyable beer,
Of salt and water and fishes,    Manifest death is your cold,            Greatness in our saddess day,
Our forebearers home             for your biting maw                         Liquid thought changer.

Oh Life Holding earth,        Desert, we fear you,                       Castle, tall and strong
father of forest and hill,       Your sand and your heat murder,    Even in death you marvel
The soil is your gift             kife in your is death                         Solid Memory.

I hope you enjoyed those haikus, I wrote about nine as the girls in the writing class took to write five poems, I'm just that fast a poet. I could make new poems at a peotry meeting while giving a 'reading', it would be so funny to see everyones face as they realise what I was doing! I was collecting money for The Chernobyl Cause on thursday. You should help them as they help children with radiation poisoning in Kazakhstan, which when in the time USSR had one third of the world's nuclier testes, 500 bombs over 40 years. You own Kazakhstan your money if you laughed in the Borat movie, you evil people! So help those poor mutant children in their orphanages, also help the poor children in Ukrane ( where Chernobyl is.)

 I did my GAA exams, which don't really matter to me, as I'm not a sportperson. Also a Martin Woodhose fact: I you say a Chuck Norris fact to someone who already knows it, Martin Woodhose knows where you live.
  The Elemental Maniac,
                             Myself

No Writing Course

I had no writing this week as the two girls weren't in, which is kind of annoying, but for all you guys I'm going to put up two old stories I had written in the past:

The Armarda,
  "Yar, you sill'a planet lovers, your planet is now under attack by my armarda of space pirates." Roared a voice from the telescreen, Garet just shot the device with a lazer gun and it fell to the floor and smashed into sevral thousand shards of metal. Most of the customers in his bar ignored this sudden moment of chaos in their sea of drunken swearing. Only a young man in a soldier's uniform showed any signs of shock and fear. Garet walked over to the young man while drying a glass flaggin.
"Aren't you afraid of the pirates?" Asked the young man but Garet just shook his head.
"No worry kid, all ships that enter this sector fall out of the sky from our planet's gravitational field and crash" Relpided Garet never looking at the man but at the flaggin. "All that is going to happen is sevral space ships will be wrecked and ten thousand pirates are going to need new jobs. So where are you from kid, your accent says Galnor or Kalpalic?"
" Galnor, a town called Cydnis, I just hope the rescue party comes soon." Continued the Galnorian. Garet merely tutted ans walked away - they were all the same, thinking they'll be saved but just stranded in this, his, bar.

 The City of Diabolo was called the twisted city not because of it's strange and unusual and freikish architechture but because of the complete lack of morals amonst it's ruling class. They would wear costumes and kill people in strange and unique ways as a sport. Shaun remembered Dammed-Chocolate-Man, Funny Dog and Lost Hunter, his old school chums, each with a nickname to hide their identies, like anyone actual could stop them, if anybody even cared. But shaun was only called Calous Shaun because he killed his fellow nobles, for the sport of it.  Seven lives too his name, and seven truly great names. His three old training partners had been killed by public beheading, which had made him famous across the city. The four ironic deaths that followed where mor fun: Forgotten Abaddon (stewed in a soup of corpses for his death by canibilism), Numb Achilles (thrown into an electric power plant for electrcuting his 'patients'), Mellow Eros ( Liver failure from alchol overdose which matched his drugging of young adults) and lastly Cursed Souless ( who was thrown of a skyscrapper simple because Shaun couldn't think of an Ironic way of killing a man who changed his exicution methods). And now he was going to kill Meloncoly Valkerie, but how do you kill someone who uses chrisma to convince people to kill themselves?

 So if you have anyways to kill such a person please send me a comment! I've had the whole week off school as I;ve been training for Meitheal team next year, so wish me luck with that. I also say hello to anyone who is reading this from Meitheal. For those of you not there, I'm sorry it was fun! We played alsorts of Icebreakers and stuff. But I'll tell you this: Pins and straws are not fun things to make statues out of. Also I will now give the worlds first Martin Woodhose fact; if you put a box on a table and Martin Woodhose is in the room his head will appear under the box if you pick it up!
                                         The Meitheal Ninja,
                                                                   Myself

The Return to Monotonism.

Hi'ya y'all and stuff. I have returned to the absolute boredom that is my school life. But today I have written some more peices of Pros in my writing class:
   The first was a story that I had to write in one page of my note book, the second had to use five out of ten words, and the third  was one line was written by each member and then handed over to the next person and continued on such a style.

 Maze:
   The blade slashed through his flesh, cleanly along the muscles grain. Hyko twichted with the pain and then slammed a fist into the monster's belly. The creature stagered back, and Hyko leapedinto the air spinning so his foot smashed into the thing's twisted face. He heard it's bones shatter and it scream as it's brain was ripped into ribbons as the bone fragments danced through like lepers through tar. Hyko cursed as the screams echoed across the labarythn. He was in a dead end and those, those things where after him. He twitched again at the pain of his cut and ran. He didn't know where to run to, or if there was an exist but that didn't stop him. If only he could find a medic or a first aid kit and he would survive.

Words: Jester Pint, Armchair, Tree, Irish, Juju, Crone, Blank, Comprehensible, Solstice. Words used in Italics.

    Old Mrs.Fian sat back into the Armchair as Marcus patroled through the shop, it was dark and only lite by th twilight steaming through the window. Her chair was behin the V-shaped counter, with various charms, gizmos, brochures and random objects of power the hung from ropes that dangled form ancient Irish oak beams of the ceiling. The counter had a slope of glass that protected various grimories and more valuble objects, the walls where  lined with shelves of the least valuble objects.
" Looking for something Marcus" Asked the crone as she chucked down a pint's worth of  water down the sink after cleaning a new charm all the way from Ireland,
"Yes" He replied not stopping to look at her. "I'm looking for something special."
"well" She asked, her tone rising from blank too fury.
"Yes" He remarked finally looking at her, "This"
He put down a photo onto the desk. She snatched it up and grinned at the photo.
"Now, I have that piece." She replied to his action.
" How Much" Bluntly inquired Marcus,
" Depends what this all means to you!" Was her reply to his last question, her grin twisting like a maggot in soft flesh.

    Switch: My lines are underlined, Ellen's are bold and Virginia's are in Italics.
        Nova looked around the room , nothing behind, nothing in his son's room or under the bed, so he switched of the lights. And hid inside his cupboard. Waiting for the dawn to bring him home. He knew that his race where ugly and twisted with scales of orange and eyes of red and talons of death, but the humans beyond the bed where the real monsters. They chartled and gurgled in mouthfuls of tea, sweat tea and milk and honey and blood, and the sun rose in the horizon.

     Oh and a piece of advice, vampires smell of obvious of death and also, surprisingly, vanilla! Long story, but useful advice. Also, I'm  proud to annouce the Osama Bin Laden is dead, and before you say anything, that is a bad thing. His death only makes a martyr, and martyr create more trouble then they solve. Anyway no-one had heard him plan a terrorist plot for at least four years, which is bad. He should have been captured, trialed and then when found guilty and be brought to every talk show and public event in chains, purely to mock Al Qaeda. But the question is this, will Bin Laden's death become an America Holiday, it would probally be the only holiday of annual celebration about a horrific war crime. But lets hope no such maccabre events happen.

       Also was the 25th anniversary of Chernobyl on Tuesday, which was a bummer, espacally for someone who suffered it's effects and I am truly sorrow for you and wish you the best of luck.
                                      Swearsy McSwearsalot,
                                                                      Myself

The Less then one week return!

Hey'O! I'm back for the second time in one week! And what a week it has been! Prince William is now married, not that any really cares! So some guy called William married his true love called Kate. In any ordinary the marraige would just be a minor footnote in some marraige listing in the local newspaper, but OH No you get the royal family and suddenly the brittish empire, I mean common wealth must have a day off and the whole world focused on one wedding. Before I spend your entire free time reading my moanings I going to put up the poems I did in todays for writing. The first was an activity for a self glorfing poem, the second a moment of slow motion and the third a moment in rush

Glory:
I, Myself, Prince of Predicons
Lord of the shadowborn, Bane of Sanity,
I the poet of all my dream's broken mirror,
voice of wisdom, advocate of the forgotten genius,
Hail the Sun of Deaths Secret,
a devoirer of knowledge,
Duke of Maddness and Sanity,
May God show him even greater lines,
as I sit alone,
on a throne of Frozen Tears,
In the Garden of Blackroses and unfurfilled dreams.

The Fall:
Fist,
gliding through the air,
like a dandilion seed,

The fist, it giters
with gold and silver,
almost at it's victim,

suddenly it is flung
up, a shockwave
of pain

the man falls,
his rings
break, Jewels shatter

but the knee
has broken
more important
thing, things most necessary,
his hip bone.

The Knights:
The rushed and boomed and crashed,
the dust is a marker of out fury,
my, no, our, no, mine alone, my anger,  my wraith,
I must find his heart, soon or I'll miss,
his lance is also raised and aimed,
we gallop and brush aside the fools,
the fools who run and scurry and wnder,
and just in the as we collide,
steel and steel smash and then splinter,
the blood spurts everywhere,
I turn and stop,
his heart is on my lance,
but my horse is scarred and dead,
a lance lays buried in his head,
I jump onto the dust before her crashes down,
and I charge to my enemy with my sword in hand
And as I dash to him,
he takes his blade, and then his life.


I will start ranting again, and it's about purly personal affairs now, my dad made me help him drag a recently bought dingy. It was problems after problem, had to get new tape to hold it in place, then find the number plate and screw it in, then figure out how to link the electronics, which didn't work and then the links between the car and trailer was fiddly and then the dingy rattled when we where driving so we ended up having to put even  more tape on the boat, aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

         The Furious Swearsy McSwearsalot,
                                                               Myself