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15th December 2006

golden_plume11:42pm: The Shepherd's Carol
The Shepherd’s Carol

Perhaps… perhaps, in retrospect,
It may be that we botched
It. But I believed we were watched
Every single step of the way
And I say we dared not disobey
And the instructions seemed
Clear at the time; I never dreamed
We now could be deemed to misdirect,
We could be wrong. So long ago….

24th November 2005

yll3:31pm: call for submissions!
anouncing a non-profit anthology of poetry/prose/artwork slated for mid-january publication.

moth in a bottle is expected to be at least twenty-five pages long and will be sold for charity. please see [m] press for details. if you do nothing else for charity this season, do this.

15th August 2005

fantastific5:56pm: I'm K.C., and this is my first time posting my poetry online (not to mention in this comm :D). I'm usually very insecure about it, but I figure I've got to bite the bullet and get some constructive critism or I'll never improve. >_o Here goes; angsty, emo-y ex-boyfriend poetry.

There's a line here
Don't cross it
If there was time here
Then I stopped it
I am tired of lies
I can't tell many more
When I discovered what you wanted
I found the door
We were a pair of nobodies headed for the edge
You spoke of immortality but all we were was dead
Air that used to spark between us now was useless, now lay still
Because I fought the urge to stab you when you joked about my pills
Two years is apparently longer than we thought
Priorities have shifted and you were shifted off
You've changed into somebody I wouldn't be seen with
This "relationship" has muddied and there's no one around to clean it
You're obsessive, get over it
You've been rejected, get used to it
For if you keep on this path that you're obviously hell-bent on
Let the door hit you may God be with you - because I'm gone

[[x-posted all over creation]]

8th September 2004

volpex12:53pm: Send in the Clowns
As soon as the plan unfolds,
The world will see it clearly.
As the veil falls away from their eyes,
The truth will taste foreign;
Strangely obscure in its cold.

As the gun-toting miscreants march on the square,
The hedonist wannabes tremble in fear.
Run for cover;
For the infinite madness is clear.
Run for shelter;
'Cause their is no room here for cheer.

It's nobodies fault,
We're all equal here.
There's no room for doubt.
The straight and the queer, the nazi and commie;
The eater and eaten, the boy and the girl...

After all, we're one and the same insane,
Down through the pages of ill-written history.
As the wool pulls back over your eyes,
The truth will be weary,
Exhausted from hiding the lie.

As the riot squad closes in, we wonder aloud:
Is this really worth believing in, why we're around?
Run for cover;
The truth will fall heavy and loud.
Run for shelter;
Abaddon comes without a sound.

You're not to blame,
We're not to fear.
Cover your shame,
Your lack of opinion and lack of disgrace -
Laughing at the image of your desperate display.

After all... You're nothing but fodder,
Patriot sons of the fall.
The end, it draws ever nearer
Ran before we learned to crawl.
(Don't) be afraid, it's only the end of the world.

As the gun-toting miscreants march in the street,
The insecure powerful quake in dismay.
Run away now,
Reality hits with a force.
Run away now,
Not much more time left to go.

Wake up...
It's time to finish the game.
A virtual hegemony,
A farcical display,
Wake up... It's the end of the day.
Current Mood: Metallic

8th July 2004

louderback5:52pm: Debarrass
This month's seed: </p>

Debarras - to disembarrass; to disencumber from anything that embarrasses.

What would you do, what could you do to to debarrass yourself in an awkward situation?

7th December 2002

novapsyche12:24am: Sun of the Demiurge

Land breaking
under the sum
of patent fear,
catacombs cluttering
his wayward walk,
a reprimand upon
his unwarmed heart
and a swear on his breath:

the Angel of Mastemoth
treads his path.
Promulgating murk like mustard,
he plants his plasmatic
upon the milk-white purity
of the remnant,
ruby-black palmprint
smearing the holy swath
like mud
on albinic suede.


The land cracks
beneath his burning feet;
it blisters with iniquity.


The luciferous visage
blinds starbright disciples.
They bear the blight
of blasphemy, their eyesight
with rapacious lust
to the bulbous landscape.
The Angel of Mastemoth
leads them down
the broad and broken road,
their soles burnt from walking
such roughshod, reddened stone.

26th November 2002

novapsyche7:17pm: "Yes, Viriginia, there is a God!"

Everywhere, I read: maya, maya.

I see the world pulled
over my eyes
swollen with gray ailment
blanketing my woolen sight

I have been blind from birth


Alone, in a locked room,
I sat, eyes crammed shut
from crying. Not the crying
of one witness to atrocity,
but tears of a deeper woe.

Thauma is trauma.
The day of vision
brought in its wake
an illustrious weariness, and a sense
of the unreality
of the whole of creation.
The soul is left, reeling.

Can the call have no caller?
Is there effect without cause?

There is no cosmic Star 69


He declined to identify himself,
though the voice was familiar.
He said he represented
a bastion of knowledge and higher learning.
He misspelled my name.
He said he called in regards to a debt.
He told me to choose between
credit-card and check-book.

The eyes deceive but the ears are true
because all around me is maya, maya
and I cannot trust what I see


the body suppresses
all of the wonder
swimming within and
the body disguises
all of the twilight
radiant with faith
the worms eat the body
but the body of bread returns
broken but infinite
insinuated within earth
habitat of worms

the bread is full of water
novapsyche1:52am: accidental anorexia
I've stumbled into
this nervosa

I mean not to do it. I long
for every tasty morsel
rippling aromatic stellar rings
across the kitchen's atmosphere

yet I abstain. My stomach
and whines with bile.

I feed it instead
an amethyst elixir,
a crimson-colored cocktail
that confers claritas.
I quaff this tonic, convinced
that the superfluous dross
that is the body
could consist on the calories
contained within.

Soon enough the fast
can be broken. Until then,
the body is bread.

4th November 2002

louderback1:41pm: Hollow
Hollow Man

He walks his world of incognizant shame
His senses blunted and out of frame
He knows not the ways of others
And cannot heed (or seldom bothers).

The burdens that he bears are his
To bear alone for all his days
He does not even know of this
But accepts it, as the world's one way.

Nothing inside him matters at all
He hides behind a mental wall
He hides nothing there behind
Save appalling emptiness of mind.

The emptiness is what the world to him
Has given again and again you see,
It's left him hollow and sadly grim
And makes him feel he's never free.

Others saw him not , nor spoke to him
Save to inflict as on a whim
The electric chill they through him ran.
That tortured, haunted, hollow man
Current Mood: Depressed

8th October 2002

spacepanda11:42pm: I think I could go on forever about the processes that haunt me
weaving intricate maps, looping paragraphs
one turn of the handle and the faucet expels the life source
there is a perceived absorption and felt release
I guess clouds soak them up somewhere
because I feel them looming like gray skin, overflowing with liquid, rain-disguised pus
I visualize tearing out pieces of my anatomy and flesh with finger nails, fingers on edge
fingers stiff, my whole body is like a plank of rock
every turn is a wall in my face
every turn is an intention of your face
revolving picture of mine,
like an unreachable reached, you're the ground beneath me
but I'm floating

this is not the point
the giant statue in the giant sea, metaphorical, symbolical
the red lines liquid swell and slide to the ground
grounding me to rock
I will go no where
my efforts only send me up
my fate is a weight
but I can't see anything from a clear, vacant view
a gray head in the distance

I don't want to take the blame
I'll take an excuse
the town's sense of simplicity is my own sense of doom
I have my own quiet magic, my own uselessness, my own nauseousness
I'm disappearing into people I don't know

what is my identity now
but imagined

if you say you know me you are my finger print
if I met you I may have left something behind
let me gather my things,
I've been slowly draining, slowly leaking, since a part of me left
take your share, a hand full of air
I am pulled many ways, mostly down
mostly going up
mostly floating up
mostly running out
like a red balloon with no holder, no string, no rubber
just helium

3rd October 2002

thewellofsouls3:33pm: Space Vixen: The Legend of Pussy Willow (Part Four)
(Continued from Part Three)

Sly awoke to the sound of his commlink. The disc chirped in rhythm with the flashing red light on the black plastic cover. He kicked off the sheets and sat upright in bed, retrieving the communicator from the nightstand. Rubbing his eyes, he flipped it open.


26th September 2002

thewellofsouls4:37pm: Space Vixen: The Legend of Pussy Willow (Part Three)
(Continued from Part Two)

Phoebe waited for the Vixen to reach the fringes of the system before she uncloaked the ship and set a course for the planet Grag. The navigational computer took over, and she leaned back in the smooth leather seat and breathed a sigh of relief.

thewellofsouls4:25pm: Space Vixen: The Legend of Pussy Willow (Part Two)
(Continued from Part One)

"What the hell happened?" Bert Lexnar asked.

Sylvester Atari cleared his throat. "Well, sir, there appeared to be a period of about thirty to forty seconds in which the power supply was disrupted, leaving the hall in total darkness. Then I was..."

"I know what happened," Lexnar interrupted. "My gargoyle was stolen! I mean what the hell happened with you?"

Sly tried to slink deeper into his chair, but he felt very big and very oafish right now. It wasn't the small antique chair that he was sitting in, although that didn't help matters. The fact that he had failed in his duty to protect the one thing he'd been assigned to protect still rankled.


23rd September 2002

thewellofsouls5:04pm: Space Vixen: The Legend of Pussy Willow
The guy had a thing for gargoyles. That was the first thing Sly noticed. Well, the second actually. The first thing he noticed was the hot blond over by the champagne waterfall, but she had no bearing on his assignment whatsoever. He wasn't sure that the gargoyles had anything to do with potential security risks either, but damn they were scary looking.

The scariest looking one was located on a pedestal in the middle of this cathedral of a ballroom. Which was only appropriate as this soiree was centered around millionaire Bert Lexnar's acquisition of said gargoyle. While most of the other gargoyles around the room were carved into the stone balustrades and columns, this one seemed a little more lifelike, as if its black onyx wings would start flapping at any moment, carrying the gargoyle far away from here. Of course, this would not bode well for Sly as his only job here tonight was to make sure that ugly little artifact didn't go anywhere.

Sly tugged at the collar of his tuxedo. Not because he felt intimidated by the hideous statues with unblinking stone eyes that seemed to stare right into his soul. Not at all. He was mostly sweating because he wasn't used to wearing a tuxedo. But the assignment had called for plainclothes, or fancyclothes in this case. He'd rented his tux just last night, the cute shopgirl marveling as she wrapped the measuring tape around his bulging muscles. She had seemed especially interested getting on her knees and measuring his inseam, until other things started bulging, and he had to take her into the back to let her take one last measurement.

joe_black4:40am: Wheel of Time character bio and short story
Kinda long...Collapse )
Current Mood: accomplished

15th September 2002

joe_black12:44am: Bran free-write 01
Bran looked woke to find himself laid across his desk tattered with papers. Reports were due the first day of the week and his had kept him up most of the night. The side of his face hurt from the continuous pressure from not budging while asleep.
What was I doing before I fell asleep? The thought triggered a quick memory of hearing a song being played on a fiddle outside the barracks' window.
Quickly, Bran stood and walked to the open window. Outside was nothing but the jagged wall of the inner court where the Red Flame Army of Rasharr snuggled against the towering castle, the country's capital. The moon barely lit the walkway three levels below. The occasional guardsman on watch would pass nearby with his lantern pole, but none were there now.
Looking back to the desk one paper stuck out from the rest. A long dark line trailed down the report. It must have been what he was writing before sleep overtook him. The words were clear, but Bran had no recollection of writing them:

The darkness comes again. All shall perish for their transgressions. The night brings the double moons to their power... and all shall... know...

"Did I write this?" Bran muttered to himself.
A loud banging from his chamber door broke the silence. It quickly opened, none of the doors in the barracks were allowed to be locked. In popped the head of Tammar Olgarith, 3rd hall leader of Sempach Division. "Bran, get your gear. We're being deployed to the south gate."
Bran blinked in surprise, "Another drill?"
"It's real this time." Tammar cooly commented, "Five minutes, fall in outside."
Tammar didn't wait for a response. He was in control of all thirty rooms in the hall. The barracks were five levels tall, each housing one hundred and fifty soldiers. This wasn't their homes either, each hall was cycled into the field. At those times another hall would be cycled in and take up residence in the same rooms. Each soldier kept only what he could move with him since they were cycled often.
Bran plucked his scabbard and sword from the corner of the small room and fitted it to his belt. His armor was the quick fitting type developed by the armors of Pallas' Shield. With a few buckles and straps he had his torso protected with half chain mail and half light plate mail. He didn't bother with adding any armor to his legs. If combat would arrive in the capital it would be advantageous to be able to move quicker and adjust to the obstacles.
In the hall other soldiers were stirring from their rooms outside to formation.
Current Mood: awake

23rd August 2002

thewellofsouls5:46pm: Valhalla -- The Beginning
Hi! This is an invitation to anyone interested in participating in a collaborative story on chronicle. This is the beginning of the story, which is set in a futuristic city called Valhalla populated by both science fiction and fantasy characters. Feel free to let your imagination run wild!


The girl kept looking over her shoulder.

She walked at a brisk pace, her heels clicking rapidly on the concrete. Her white hands clutched the collar of her coat, pulling it tight around her pale neck. The night air caught her hair each time she looked back, tangled strands of gold obscuring her face.

Night had hushed the city, making her breath seem very loud. Still, she kept thinking that she heard something else behind her. Another breath above her own. Another step echoing hers.


13th August 2002

ringbark9:58pm: Burning desire
I grew up in my own country, the son of loving parents, an average student at my school. In my youth, I had one overbearing desire. Fire was my whole life, and fire had a power over me like nothing else. I'm not talking about the small fires which my grandfather showed me when I was a young boy. I remember us sitting by the glowing embers of the fire in my grandparents' house. He would take his stick and point at the embers and show me the shapes he saw in his imagination. Then I would tell of some things that I saw. One day I described a ship, travelling far away, but never dreamed that I would ever need to take such a journey.
Read more...Collapse )

12th August 2002

thewellofsouls3:30pm: The Man of Her Dreams
She looked so beautiful tonight. Every night, he thought. Her hair was pulled back into a long, golden ponytail. Hazel eyes were lowered to the lap of her pale blue dress. She sat in a folding metal chair, empty chairs flanking her. The multi-colored lights drifting past her swept around couples dancing to the rhythm of some love ballad from the 90's. Their shoes squeaked on the gymnasium floor. Her shoes were silent.

Matthew wanted to go to her and ask her if she wanted to dance. But something kept him from getting up. Fear, maybe? Shyness. It was hard to say. He just sat there, watching Sarah from a distance like he had done for so long now. Waiting for her eyes to meet his. Watching. Waiting.

From the shadows on the other side of the gym, another boy appeared. Short hair, a jacket that was slightly too big for him -- he must have borrowed it from his father -- and palms that were apparently so moist that he had to keep rubbing them on his pants. He walked cautiously over to Sarah, hesitated, and then passed her to get some punch.

She looked up.

Look over here, Matthew thought. At me.

But she didn't. Instead she rose, her eye catching the boy in his father's jacket. She approached him. He could see her mouth moving, then his. Words exchanged. Smiles. The boy setting his cup down, and taking her hand as she led him to the dance floor.


5th August 2002

thewellofsouls1:24pm: LiveJournal of the Apocalypse
August 6, 2002
It started raining frogs today at 4:30pm. Figures. I just washed my car yesterday, so I should have known. And of course traffic was hell. Does nobody know how to drive in frogs? I mean, Christ... it's not like it's raining fireballs or anything.


9th July 2002

moonpies4210:06pm: Chronicle
I've decided to try to resurrect my community chronicle. Not that it's dead, necessarily, but I want to try to get back to the original idea behind the community.

If you are interested in writing collaborative stories with other writers, creating your own characters in a variety of settings, and basically just having fun, please check out the community. You'll see a poll that I'd like people to fill out. I'm really interested in starting a collaboration sometime soon, if enough people are interested.

3rd July 2002

thewellofsouls12:19pm: The List
Agnes folded the magazine in her lap. It was one of those women's magazines that had a picture of a supermodel on the cover. The girl was pencil thin and not that attractive, at least not as far as Agnes was concerned, and she was surrounded by boldface words encouraging you to "Drive Him Wild", "Take a Sexy Survey", or learn "New Exciting Positions".


23rd June 2002

starofjupiter2:04pm: almost perfect

Almost Perfect

Told her she was beautiful
But she needed to lay off the make-up
Almost perfect but not quite
Told her not to make a fuss
She couldn’t get any worse

You connect on multiple levels
But you loathe every motive in her head
She kissed you first; you kissed her back but why?
Guess she wasn’t worth the try
Almost perfect but not quite

Told her you wanted to be with your music some more
Time alone to let yourself grow
She burned each remnant of you. Every memory.
Found out you were with another girl the whole time
Fell down and couldn’t stop crying
Never perfect, never right.

Called to apologize, to talk, and to say hi
Listened to the dial tone for maybe 3 minutes
Hung up.
Tried again.

You promised forever
It ended last week
Almost perfect. Never worth the try.
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