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