Wyvern

Wyvern dashes into the Cabaret Room and echoes Lumpenproletariat's sentiments with a resounding cheer, complimenting Alaeha on her original and intriguing Quill Quest idea. Setting up a sign that reads "Free Bruteweiser!" and whipping out the Decanter of Endless Booze in the hopes of attracting some more people to the Quest, the overgrown lizard clears his throat of a few ashes and hisses: "Excellent idea for a Quill Quest, Alaeha. Would you like for us to nominate the potential members in this thread, or through PM?"

I liked this poem, Arashi, and found a number of the images and emotions evoked throughout it very intriguing. I particularly liked the image that described the "femme" as "...a ray of luscious red/ In a room filled with faceless mirrors," (ll. 5-6) and thought the manner that the beauty of the woman contrasted with the appearences of those around her was interesting and evocative. It almost seemed as though the narrator was unable to view his own reflection in the mirror due to his being so astounded by the woman's appearence... One thing that I felt could potentially be expanded upon in this poem is the ambivalent danger present in the woman in the first stanza, which seems to get abandoned in the stanzas that follow (though the adjective "untainted" in the first line of the final stanza does have a somewhat negative connotation). I was intrigued by the associations between beauty and danger in the first stanza, particularly in the lines "Speaking sweetly and softly/ As you threaten him with bodily harm," (ll. 3-4) and was somewhat disappointed when they didn't reoccur in later stanzas. Very good poem.

I really enjoyed this poem, Alaeha. I think you did an excellent job with the sonnet form of this piece, since the rhyme schemes and structure of the poem read as very original to me. I didn't even notice the classic sonnet format of the poem until I read it specifically searching for the rhyme schemes, and they made for a very intriguing read. I also really liked the scathing and bitter tone you set throughout the piece, as well as the numerous vivid images you used to illustrate your message. "Ergo, the mink/ they claim to hold is just a writhing worm" (ll. 3-4) was my favorite. On a side note: an interesting theory to consider... T.S Eliot argued that the "unique" trends in poetry are, in fact, part of the tradition of poetry, as great poets of the past have always innovated as part of a poetic tradition... Great poem.

3/14/04 Yesterday, on the train to Silver Spring, I met one of those communicative oddities. Former art history/sociology major, with deep-rimmed glasses, short hair, and probably thirty years to endlessly chat about. I first caught her exchanging sentences with an old man three seats behind her, seperate by three feet, two unfamiliar yet intimate strangers. After the man fell silent, a young black woman boarded and sat next to her, sparking another curious discourse. She spoke on discrimination, and the social justifications for hatred, as if she had previously worn the skin of her victim. She then told jokes about dead nuns while I sat in a seat opposite from her, and blankly stared at passing scenary. I tried not to tear my eyes from the grafittied walls and passing lots, but then left observations for interactions. "So you're a sociology major?" "Former art history/sociology, I teach at Catholic school." "I'm writing these poems called 'Observations' and am interested about how you can be so openly social." "Well, my mother is Irish." "I mean, I'm pretty reserved myself, so-" "Well, that's natural. What's your nationality?" "I'm from Calif-" "No, I mean like your parents." "Well, my mother is Russian." I can't do the conversation justice here, but I will tell you these lines: the former sociology major turned to me with her deep rimmed glasses and Catholic beliefs and calmly explained to me that "Russians are more reserved." --- An uplifting gospel from a church lit like fireflies is drowned by the abrasive flatulence of a cargo horn's low echo.

As Melba strolls down the hallway towards the Belchfire Cafe in the hopes of finding a slightly more calming activity than swatting swarms of geld-hungry rats with broomsticks, she notices the hobbled form of Wyvern stooping over a strange contraption in the far corner of the hall. The Almost Secretary of Initiates' frowny bread loaf face suddenly seems to get tossed into a radioactive oven as it flares up with rage at the sight of the overgrown lizard. Glancing towards the Recruiter's Office, then the far corner of the hall where Wyvern sits, then the Recruiter's office again, Melba explodes and screams: "Wyvern, why aren't you supervising your Office?!" The reptilian Elder jumps upon hearing this exclamation, and accidentally sets off the intricately fabricated mousetrap that he had been constructing in the process. The movement of the small piece of cheese at Wyvern's feet causes a tiny current of static electricity to be sent through a set of wires, which move up along the righthand wall of the hall until they reach an exercise wheel containing a hamster that has been connected to the ceiling. The hamster sitting there is given a small electric shock, which causes it to start running on the wheel. This movement, in turn, activates a mechanical hand sitting next to a telephone, which proceeds to dial the number to Disney Land, Terra. Near a phone booth at Disney Land, Terra, a man dressed in a Mickey Mouse outfit races from a disaster involving a wraith dressed as Donald Duck, who is distributing death through hugs. Hearing the ring of the phone booth, Mickey postpones the calling of dominion security in order to execute his part of the mouse trap plan, quickly whipping out a cell and phoning up the headquarters of the Stuart Little fanclub. At Stuart Little headquarters, a man dressed in a dark shades, a dark overcoat, and a Stuart Little costume answers his cell phone, and smiles when he hears the familiar voice of agent Mickey over at Disney Land, Terra. "It's time." Agent Stuart squeaks in mouse code and nods, quickly reaching over to an emergency panel and pressing a red button labeled "Exterminate." At that moment, a man wearing a Chuck-E-Cheese outfit who is nestled in a bush at the outskirts of the Pen recieves a beep on his pager. It was time. Moving out of his bush, Agent Chuck-E stealthfully avoids the open front door of the Pen and fires a grappling hook out of his hand-cannon in order to connect with the guild's roof, swinging upwards and swiftly crashing through an extra-expensive window leading into the Cabaret Room. Taking out a simple mousetrap from the tail of his costume and searching the premises, the agent is let down when he see's no rats anywhere near the room. "What's going on here...?" mumbles the man to himself in a disappointed manner, scratching the left ear of his costume in confusion. Shrugging to himself and shaking his head, Agent Chuck-E suddenly notices a salami sandwich resting on a nearby table. His stomach grumbles at the sight of it, and he silently licks his lips... "Well, there doesn't seem to be any mice around here..." whispers the man to himself, approaching the sandwich "... finally, a real piece of food, not just some crummy, novelty pizza! I guess I'll just take this sandwich as a little souveni-" Agent Chuck-E is interrupted as he suddenly notices a Pen member, Aardvark, returning to the room for his sandwich. Cursing to himself frantically, the man drops the sandwich along with the mousetrap that he's holding and manages to escape just in the nick of time. Aardvark arrives back to his lunch with a soda, not noticing the mousetrap haphazardly planted between the sandwich's two slices of bread... Elsewhere... Wyvern rushes into the Recruiter's Office wearing a Pied Piper costume, complete with novelty feathered hat and disturbing green tights. Initiating plan B, the overgrown lizard takes out a flute and begins playing an out-of-tune melody on it in the hopes of attracting the rats and leading them out of the guild halls of the Pen. Unfortunatly, the reptilian Elder's horrible flute playing sparks a different tune entirely, which results in numerous panda bears becoming attracted to the melody and slowly marching towards the Pen. Fortunately, the overgrown lizard's costume is so wretched-looking that the rats are immediately scared away from the Office and the guild halls anyway. Swaying back and forth in exhaustian, Wyvern stamps the Grim Squeaker's application poem ACCEPTED and silently prays that the Endangered Species Coalition won't take the panda situation the wrong way before falling unconscious. ;-) OOC: A very witty and well-written application poem, Death of Rats... certainly ACCEPTED! Welcome to the Mighty Pen! I look forward to reading more of your writing, as well as participating with you in future community projects.

The "N.Y Underground" episode of "Any. Given. Moment." went really well, despite there being numerous technical difficulties behind the scenes... The station's computer wasn't playing Real Audio for some reason, and the second stereo was also having difficulties reading certain CDs. Never the less, the program went very smoothly... in fact, I think this might have been my first show without any real visible mess ups. I sent out a lot of shout outs and dedications to the Mighty Pen over the course of the show. I shouted out all of the people tuning and AIMing me by name, Merelas for a belated B-day, as well as the entire Mighty Pen crew worldwide. I also dedicated tracks to Happy Buddha (Vast Aire - "Cholesteral"... about being a chubby M.C), Zool (Babbletron - "Space Tech Bannana Clip"... crazy comedy sci-fi track), Scarlett O Harpy (Viktor Vaughn - "A Dead Mouse"... track about hunting, complete with evil middle eastern sitar), and Tzimfemme (Aesop Rock - "Water"... I just love operatic vocal samples and religious metaphors). Thanks to everyone who tuned in and supported! Next week, "Any. Given. Moment." is cancelled due to Spring break, as the campus will be closed and I'll be crashing over at my parents' house. "Any. Given. Moment." will resume again on March 26th, and the theme of the show will be announced at the beginning of that week. Thanks again to all supporters!

3/12/04 A panoramic visual from my line of sight, facing a crooked laptop screen: 0 degrees: a small clock, nestled beside a music speaker, its glow-in-the-dark hour arrow aligned with a luminous minute pole. Both facing the 1 mark, turning from the Swiss Army logo of 12 O clock, though by the time this is written they've split into a mock triangle, the hour hand desperatly reaching to connect with the interval markers that the minute pole always seems to touch. On the outskirts of 8 and 9 rests a black alarm stick which ruffles 8s head with its yellow tip. It stretches alone, motionless, though in 17 minutes the minute pole will accompany it there and break the time triangle it once attempted to form. 20 degrees: a piece of a stereo at eye level, labeled "Deck 1," subtitled "playback," right beside the smokey, mascara red tapedeck. A needlessly transparent unit which, for all it's colorful pomposity, has yet to ever touch a demo tape. A few degrees to the left stands a line of identical holes. Thin and barely visible, they spew heat like vomit every time a note is read off of a compact disc. Above the holes rests a tiny piece of styrofoam, hopelessly stranded on an Ocean of metalic silver. The first six lines of that segment were written at 1 AM 3/11/04, though that could be the 12th depending on the way you seperate dates. 45 degrees: a remote control lies in a pool of dust next to a music speaker. Rarely touched, only fiddled with once, it has never felt the comfort of a set of double As. Beside it is the knob of a lamp, which radiates light like a UFO that has landed and signals to other saucers through small, circular discs surrounding it's cockpit. The lamp head bulges with three layers of fat underneath the saucer knob, until the mouth containing it's bulb opens wide, and gives insects an auditoriam for their last moments on Earth. 90 degrees: one half of a door framed at the end of a short hall, the other half blocked by a parallel wardrobe that sits close enough to touch. At the foot of the wooden structure lies one half of a trash bag, the blues and reds of the boxes within it cobwebbed by the cold gray of it's surface. Far above the bag lie the points of two Melody Record bags curiously curving down towards the waste and risking a sky dive. Well, it looks like I lied again. I promised a panorama, but only described objects.

I think that this is an excellent poem, Appy. I particularly like how arguments are dismissed by the narrator for the tranquility of simply touching, and also love the very original and intriguing metaphor at the end. I found the placement of the sentence "... I love you." on it's own after the three stanzas dealing with touch to be very evocative and touching as well. Well done.

BlackCagedHeart sighs and shifts in her applicant easychair, casting wary glances towards the men in white smocks and twitching as she does so. The applicant was beginning to feel that her black heart wasn't the only thing being caged, as the structure of the Office looked more like a prison to her hyperactive eyes with every passing second... While she restlessly fidgets in her seat, the Cftm! builder rescue squad surrounding the room fiddle with their AM-85 Beta Calculators, thoroughly bored as they challenge one another to yet another game of "BelZpock Rock: Squirrel Stacks Unlimited." Both the white-smocked builders and BlackCagedHeart turn their heads simultaneously as they hear a rumbling sound approaching the Office, and begin to feel a slight tremor under their feet. "Get ready!" cries one of the builders, taking a defensive isoceles triangle position. "Here he comes!" At that moment, the main door to the Office bursts open and an excited Wyvern barges into the room at full speed, his tail rapidly swinging from side to side as he practically foams at the mouth and exclaims: "Did somebody mention free samples?!" Wyvern's tail swings wildly from side to side as he says this, and in doing so its stinger accidentally crashes into an electrical outlet. The lizard suddenly stands up straight as a surge of electricity passes through his body... "Get down! Take Rombus formation! Rombus formation!" cry the builders as an electrical shock surges throughout their calculators, causing the electronic devices to become scrambled and spontaneously combust. BlackCagedHeart watches in awe as the pants of several good-looking workers explode and burst into flames, revealing their algebra equation boxer shorts. Wyvern quickly unplugs his tail and swiftly moves past the chaos of the builders, dodging the ceiling lamp as it too explodes due to an electrical wave and falls from it's position. Quickly bowing to BlackCagedHeart as the carnage steadily elevates, the overgrown lizard reads over her application poem and then hisses: "I see... a very nice poem, BlackCagedHeart, and certainly acceptable as an application. You might want to meet up and collaborate with Aardvark at some point, by the way, as he's also been known as 'The Psycho.'" The applicant frowns and raises a brow as Wyvern frantically searches his desk for the acceptance stamp. Grabbing the utility from underneath the remains of a shattered electric alarm clock and recieving a slight shock in the process, the reptilian Elder stamps her application ACCEPTED and murmers: "I wouldn't worry about Hell too much by the way... there aren't any heavy taxing periods to my knowledge, and the food they serve there is surprisingly adequate when compared to Melba's cuisine..." ;-) OOC: An ACCEPTED application, BlackCagedHeart... welcome to the Mighty Pen! I enjoy your energetic poems and look forward to reading more things from you in the future, as well as hopefully participating with you in some community projects. Once again, welcome!

3/10/04 A little black boy, slamming his worn Reeboks onto iron Subway grids every time he marches over one on the pavement. Is he signalling a proud plumber morse code, or wearing out his shoes in the hopes of avoiding the next sneaker shooting? A small tumbleweed of grayish hair rests quietly at the top of the professors loosely buttoned shirt as a girl in the first row eagerly raises her hand to ask about the open sexuality of Whitman's Leaves of Grass. It's only been two stanzas, and I've already cheated. That last image was not today's, it was a different week, midterm review class, March something... fifth? The scene lingered, so I thought I'd share it. See the Chick-Fil-A chef. See the Chick-Fil-A chef serve. See the outfit that the Chick-Fil-A chef wears: a classic white chef smock which contrasts with the hue of her skin. Still, not as dark as other chefs who, flocked like cattle, also serve at meal stations. See the supervisor, his white skin gleaming with pride, as he oversees the cafeteria-plantation. The teacher's stuttered slurs finally break the silence as students are invited to leave fifteen minutes early for break, but hesitation looms as the disappointment in his tone screams "Why can't you just read the material for once?!"

The "Brokenhearted" episode of "Any. Given. Moment." went very well, despite it being extremely hot inside the D.J booth and my recently overcoming a bad cold. I actually began to feel a bit sad when discussing certain tracks and playing them, which is a very good sign that the show stuck to it's theme! ;-) About halfway into the program, the "mystery speaker" of the evening, Falcon2001, called in and was put on over the air. We chatted about this and that, and then he recited one of his many poems that deal with heartbreak, "Cold and Bitter." Thanks once again for agreeing to call in and supporting, Falcon! Expect many more instances of guest Pen callers in the future... I'm thinking that one short reading per week should do the trick. ;-) In addition to Falcon2001 calling in, I gave shout outs to Yuki Kokoro for AIMing me, and dedicated a track to Annael for her birthday as well as Richard (Solivagus) due to his being through a lot of heartbreak. I also generally gave shout outs to the Mighty Pen crew, as always. Many thanks to everyone who tuned in! Next week, the show will be subtitled "N.Y Underground," and I'll be exposing several lesser known New York underground hip hop labels (the excellent Embedded, Mondrian Sound, and Centrifugal Phorce rosters amongst them). Your support is appreciated as always!

Wyvern sneaks into the Cabaret Room quietly, adjusting the dark coat that he's wearing as he passes behind Celes Crusador and Matteo while narrowly avoiding a glance from Ayshela. Quickly putting on a pair of dark shades, a rubber nose, a phony moustache, a hat with a feather in it, a Pablo Picasso tie, and a name tage that reads: "Hi, my name is: Not Wyvern," the overgrown lizard approaches Zadown and taps him on the shoulder. "Pssssssssst" Wyvern whispers with a hiss. "Happy Postbirthday, Zadown... here, take this little gift..." With that, the reptilian Elder hands Zadown a small black bag that contains a book entitled "How to Hack Through the Codes of Life" by Nevah Needtoo Levelup. Bowing to the planeswalker, the lizard quickly turns to exit, only to trip over his own tail and ruin his disguise... ;-) OOC: A little late on my part, but Happy Birthday Zadown! Hope you had a great one.

Wyvern soars high above the Cabaret Room as an enormous flock of righteous holy butterflies carry him in their vice grip, battering his face and horns with their wings in the hopes of cleansing him of his evil. The mass of butterflies cling to the overgrown lizard exhaustedly as they bat their wings faster and faster, wondering if the reptilian Elder's corruption will even begin to show signs of deterioration. Wyvern struggles in their grasp, gasping for breath and exclaiming: "Ahahaha, that tickles damn you! Hahah, yeah, you - haha - butterflies heard me, I said the "D" word! Bwahahaha! Ahahahaha! Bwahahaha! Darn, haha, it's hard to laugh evilly when you're getting tickled. Haha, alright, listen you little insects, drop me this - hahaha- this instant. I'm extremely late in wishing your master a Hahahappy birthday." The butterflies suddenly cease moving upwards upon hearing this and immediatly drop Wyvern from his dangerously high position, causing him to fall for a number of feet and land onto several highheeled shoes that happen to have their extra-sharp heels sticking upward. After recovering himself from his painful fall, the lizard wanders up to Annael and bows, wishing her a belated Happy Birthday. OOC: A slightly belated Happy Birthday to you, Annael! I'm sorry to hear that your family didn't remember, and hope that it went well for you regardless. Be expecting a special shout out from me on the next episode of "Any. Given. Moment."

Wyvern sluggishly makes his way into the Cabaret Room, shoving an enormous poorly giftwrapped box that seems to be around five feet and ten inches tall with a nice width to provide muscle room to spare. Upon the box has been written "Do Not Open Until Aegon's Curiousity Has Reached It's Maximum Peak and he Wants to Pay Wyvern to Open it or March 3rd." Behind the reptilian Elder, several Elder Dwarves shamble in with large containers of Bruteweiser Booze, which they proceed to set upon numerous tables. Clearing his throat of a couple of ashes and restraining a potentially deadly sneeze, Wyvern exclaims: "I would just like to send a Happy Birthday out to Aegon!" Several groans are heard from numerous Pen quarters at Wyvern's blatant disregard for it being six in the morning, and a number of Pen members shift in their beds in the hopes of drowning out the lizard's squeaky voice. As they're doing so, Aegon's bed is dragged straight from his quarters into the Cabaret Room by Bravery and Greedy, both of whom arrive on the scene rather bruised and battered. "I thought I said to bring Aegon..." grumbles Wyvern. "You guys didn't have to bring his entire bed." "Easier said than done..." gasps Bravery, rubbing a wound on his head. "Mr. Del'Rath seems to be a fierce opponent when it comes to getting out of bed. We settled for just dragging the whole set here." Wyvern sighs. "Fair enough. Hey, Aegon, Happy Birthday!" Aegon shifts in his bed and groans, waving a hand at Wyvern to keep the noise down. "You've gotta see this present I got you!" exclaims Wyvern, swiftly making his way to the unopened package. The lizard shoves it up to Aegon's bed and then quickly undoes the wrapping, revealing a contraption that looks almost identitical to an Iron Maiden. Aegon suddenly sits up in bed, disturbed by the sight of the contraption. It was, indeed, exactly like an iron maiden... only instead of spikes inside of it, it had pens and paint brushes. Cackling evilly, Wyvern hisses: "It's an Ink Made-In®, guaranteed to torture some creative writing out of you, or your money back!" A gale of hideously evil laughter ensues as Aegon frowns and pulls his bed covers over himself in concern... ;-) OOC: Hope you have a great 22nd, Aegon! You will write more... oh yes...

Wyvern dashes into the Cabaret Room upon hearing MeThinksUFoolish's request and scratches his scaly chin in contemplation, quickly whipping out a large series of Pen-shaped graphs and linear charts before swiftly bowing to the honorable Dragon. Clearing his throat of a few ashes and pointing to one of the charts with a bo that he stole from Madoka's training dojo, the overgrown lizard hisses: "Hmmm... you might be mistaken there, MeThinksUFoolish, as I believe there are more than three types of skins here at the Pen. I take it that the three principal skins you're referring to are: 1) Flesh (examples: Orlan, Wrenwind, HappyBuddha and *gawks* Tzimfemme) 2) Fur (examples: Canid, Katzaniel, and occasionally Tanuchan depending on the thread and the shape of the moon) 3) Scales (examples: myself, Kokuryuu Flameshifter, and all of the other dragonic brethren out there)" MeThinksUFoolish raises a brow and is about to speak up when Wyvern interrupts and continues: "However, there are more than these three types of skins here at the Pen. We also have transparent skins (Jechum), vegetational skins (Waterlily and Wiggly Cabbages), feathered skins (Nyyark's Crow), and skinned milk (Almost Dragonic Brand, made with real cow hide!) amongst many others... and that's not even considering the diversity in the different kinds of fleshes, furs, and scales there are to be found out there!" MeThinksUFoolish stammers: "That's not what I-" "Indeed, the Pen is a place where all skin types can unite as one! Thanks for listening... here, have this sticker." With that, Wyvern hands Savage Dragon a sticker that reads "BUY ALMOST DRAGONIC" in block capital letters, with the tiny, almost illegible phrase "your skin is special" underneath. With that, the overgrown lizard rapidly dashes out of the Cabaret Room, not wanting to risk Madoka's samurai sheep finding out about their missing bo...

The moisture of Summer air dazes my senses as I stand, oblivious to sliding doors and monotone speaker drones, motionless in the tranquility of bustling tourists and the light comfort of familiarity. “Thank you.” My words come stifled, choked by repitition, my throat parched for another ‘today,’ for another fragile moment with her. My stomach knots as I move a step closer and my eyes fumble clumsily, tripping over her face and connecting with her eyes, locking in place for what might have been a thousand Summers. They seem to overstay their welcome, awkwardly trapped there, though like the passing days of company, never lasting long enough. Reaching beyond color and hue with that concentrated stare, or perhaps avoiding the commitment of fully seeing. Her smile then breaks the trance. Quaint. A light, almost unnoticable curvature across her right cheek. That ambivalent smile could be read like a textbook in history class, when the in-crowd jeers as soon as the teacher turns his head. The grin that crosses a classmates face when the invitations to his party specify that the best part of the occasion is that you won’t be there. But if naturally provoked, that smile could be a sign of caring, a gentle reminder of love and appreciation, a simple, warm-hearted gesture that faintly whispers “Till we meet again.” Note: poem is still a little rough around the edges, and I'm uncertain if that last stanza works as a conclusion... may revisit it...

Thanks for tuning into part of it, Ayshela! "Definitively Literate" went well... it wasn't the most exciting of topics to me since Def Jux documentaries have been done countless times before, but it was excellent music and I got a lot of positive feedback for it. I gave shout outs to the Mighty Pen crew, Yuki Kokoro, and Alaeha amongst others, and dedicated tracks to Orlan (RJD2 "2 More Dead"... fuunnkaay!), Zool ("Ridiculoid"... title says it all!) and all of the 9-5ers out there (Aesop Rock "9-5ers Anthem"). Thanks again to everyone who tuned in and supported! Next week's episode will be subtitled "Broken Hearted," and is based around the theme of heartbreak. It should be a very dark and melancholy affair, with plenty of serious issues and different kinds of failed relationships touched upon. I will also hopefully be introducing a new element to "Any. Given. Moment." starting next week, which involves a special individual poetry reading from a single caller each week. A person will be consulted with beforehand and will then call in to read one of their works over the air during the show, the poem fitting into the show's theme. I'm keeping this upcoming week's speaker under wraps for the moment, so be sure to tune in to find out who he/she is! I said I'd get the Pen community more involved in the workings of the show somehow, and this will hopefully be a step in the right direction. ;-) *cue gale of manical laughter here* Wyv-

Wyvern rushes into the Cabaret Room upon hearing the words "party" and "magical flavor cake," dragging in a pinata carved into the shape of Ja Rule (though full of AoA chocolate rather than crap) and several shiny party hats along with him. Turning towards Alaeha and grinning, the overgrown lizard hands her a book entitled "101 Heavy Metal Spellsongs," noting that it contains songs that produce steel statues and tanks amongst other things. Winking to her, the overgrown lizard proceeds to wish her a very happy birthday and then turns to Yuki Kokoro. Approaching the second birthday girl quietly, the overgrown lizard nudges her lightly with a scaly elbow and whispers: "Pssst... be on the lookout for that appreciation thread some time in the fairly near future, and thanks for all of your commitment. Have a very happy birthday!" Having said this, the overgrown lizard bows to both Alaeha and Yuki before prancing off to help himself to generous portions of magical cake and competitive gaming, carefully tucking a list of cheat codes into his back pocket... ;-) OOC: Happy birthday, Yuki Kokoro and Alaeha! I hope that everything went very well for the two of you... I gave both of you birthday shouts on my radio show.

Two hundred spilled dishes, five hundred gales of laughter, three hundred googly eyeglass compliments, and two hundred and fifty extremely generous tips later... Wyvern cackles to himself contently as he wipes a bit of Lawsuite and Attorney stew from off of his scaly claws, having accidentally tripped and caused the dish to go flying straight into a rude nobleman's face in his last instant of "catering." As usual, however, the noblemen at the table had found the incident extremely amusing... "Why look at you Jobe!" one of them had cracked while others desperatly tried to keep their wine inside of their noses. "Your investments must have finally paid off, as it seems that your Lawsuite and Attornies have got you covered!" This comment proved to be too much for the noblemen containing their wine, who practically choked as they spat the red liquid at each other in hysterical laughter. Wyvern grinned from horn to horn at the incident... it had almost been as fun to watch as the formal gunfight that had broken loose at table twenty seven after he had dropped the Wyvern-must-die souffle he was carrying onto a nobleman's left toe... Wyvern's thoughts are suddenly interrupted as he feels a tap on his shoulder. "Weevern..." mutters Ziggy from behind the reptilian waiter "It's time for you to head out, as it looks like the regular staff has some serious cleaning up to do around here. I want to thank you for your services this evening..." The formally-dressed halfling cringes as a table is turned over, and swiftly ducks as half a plate of "Greedy Lizard a la Flambe" is tossed from one table to another. After the cheers and raucous laughter of noblemen have died down, the formally-dressed halfling hesitantly lifts himself from the floor and reaches into his pockets for two geld to hand to the overgrown lizard. Extending a trembling hand with the geld pieces, Ziggy's jaw drops in surprise when Wyvern shakes his head and lets out a haughty laugh. "No no..." hisses Wyvern gleefully while feeling the countless checks that added up to billions of geld in his pockets. "You can keep the two geld, I don't think I'll be needing it when all's said and done." Ziggy raises a brow at the lizard, then mutters: "Are you sure, Weevern? I'd feel kind of guilty..." "Positive!" exclaims Wyvern, gleefully coming to the realization that he's officially filthy rich. "I couldn't be bothered with such a petty sum of geld, after all. Taa taa!" With that, the overgrown lizard lets out a gale of triumphant laughter and dashes out of the Ballroom as fast as his scaly legs can carry him, narrowly avoiding the giant kitten balloon as it's popped by a stray platter and comes tumbling down upon those dining in the hall. Wyvern leaves the Charity Ball without a second glance, rapidly making his way back to his Mighty Pen abode and grinning at the notion that the crazy Quixotic hag might be onto something after all... In his excitement, the second half of the fortune teller's prediction completely slipped the lizard's mind...

Wyvern dashes into the Cabaret Room and curses as he's engulfed by an enormous swarm of holy butterflies, hissing countless apologies for all of the Almost Dragonic Satanic Butterfly Net products he's produced in the past as he's completely surrounded by their glittery, hovering forms. The overgrown lizard cringes as he's lifted from the ground, and silently prays that there are no cameras present in the room, not wanting to risk his evil reputation by being caught surrounded by holy butterflies... ;-) OOC: Thanks for dropping by, Annael, hope that all's well with you!

Thank you very much for trying to call in, Wrenwind! I'm sorry that I couldn't answer your call and get you onto the air... There were a huge number of people calling in at once from Maryland, and I probably missed your call while answering to others. I actually apologized to you over the air for not being able to connect near the end of the show, for what it's worth... Note that just because the contest is over doesn't mean that people can't call in in future shows simply to comment on things and chat! I'd love to get the Pen more involved in the radio show somehow... I mean, shoutouts are fine and all, but I'm sure there's a lot more that could be done to really make it a thing that the Pen community can benefit from. I'll be looking into some potential options... For those who didn't get to tune into last week's show and are interested: "Literally Romantic" went quite well. There were lots of girls calling in from Maryland in search of candy since my sister spread word of it to all of her friends, and the contest element ran smoothly after I figured out how to connect with the telephone hybrid of the station (long, difficult process... but I have it down now for any future callers). Props to Maryland's own Shannon for winning the chocolate that was offered. The evening was purely devoted to romantic songs, and I got in plenty of shouts for the ladies of the Mighty Pen... This week's show is subtitled "Definitively Literate," and will be based on one of the most popular and well known independent labels in hip hop, Def Jux. Many argue that Def Jux has one of the most solid rosters of artists in hip hop, so it should be well worth tuning in. I'll be spinning plenty of RJD2, Aesop Rock, Cannibal Ox, Mr. Lif, Murs, etc... it's great stuff that should be well worth two hours of your listening time.

The passages of the Temple of Isaiis twist onward relentlessly as the adventurers slowly make their way back to the ancient monument's entrance, Myth acting as the guiding beacon of the group while Gyrfalcon and Kaleyra carefully tend to Timothy's inert form. The footsteps of the adventurers echo hollowly over the intricate granite floors, a certain essence forever lost to the stone patterns etched into their depths. The once-majestic stained glass windows of the temple no longer radiate the aura of grace they once did, and the alters and seats of worship now appear horribly aged to the heroes. Without any sense of wisdom to be offered, the sacred nature of the monument seemed to be permanently lost to cobwebs and dust bowls... After what feels like an extensive period of walking and worrying, a ray of sunlight pierces the adventurers' visions, momentarily blinding them and engulfing them in a physical and emotional warmth. The adventurers follow the ray of light to the exit of the temple with their eyes firmly shut, happily breathing in the island air as they step outside of the sanctuary. They are surprised to find that the welcoming scent of fresh air has been marred by a lingering stench of decay, however, and proceed to open their eyes only to be met by the image of countless rotting bodies. The inanimate corpses of previously ressurected monks lay strewn across the clearing like an ocean of gangrene, providing nourishment to a variety of flies, ants, and maggots. "You made it..." The sound of a hoarse yet familiar voice, brimming with happiness and hope, causes the adventurers to turn towards the outer wall of the Temple against which Elena leans. The island guardian clutches at her chest with a dirty, red sheet of cloth that has become dried by the sun, brightly smiling despite her pain. "You made it." Elena shifts in her position against the wall as Myth and the others approach. Noticing the agitated expressions brought about by the numerous corpses as well as her wound, the guardian gestures her hand towards the bodies around her and mutters: "They'll decay over time... eventually providing nourishment for the soil, just as they're providing nourishment for the creatures of nature now. Time heals all things, including wounds." The guardian smiles. "I felt it... the victory that is. I felt it before you even did battle, before you even entered the Temple. Indeed, you were destined to come to this island." "The Pool..." mutters Gyrfalcon softly "it was lost." A moment of silence passes in which Elena slightly shifts the position of the cloth on her chest, her face contemplative, her eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and disappointment. She is about to speak on the subject when she notices the severely wounded form of Timothy in Gyrfalcon and Kaleyra's arms, which causes her to immediatly switch subjects. "Healing herbs..." sighs Elena, restlessly shifting in her position as the happiness in her voice becomes momentarily clouded. "By the river bank, though the undead may have withered them, fragile specimens that they are."

Just want to drop a reminder that the "Any. Given. Moment." episode "Literally Romantic" will be aired this evening from 10:00 P.M to 12:00 A.M U.S EST at www.gwradio.com. I have a bag of Valentine's Brand Hershey's Kisses that I'll be giving away to the first girl that calls in, and the caller will also be able to chat with me over the air a bit. The station number is once again (202) 994-9749, if anyone here is interested. If you choose to call in, be patient in doing so as I might not be able to pick up the phone immediatly... just let it ring and I'll get to it as soon as possible. Note that even after the prize has been won or even if you aren't a gal, I still encourage folks to call in and drop their thoughts. Just remember to keep it clean (i.e no swearing) if you do so, otherwise I'll have to disconnect you. Thanks again for the support! Note: the show will start 15 minutes later than usual due to an interview in the show right before mine, just to give you guys a heads up (sorry for the late notice).

I agree with Yuki in that I think that this is an excellent poem, Snypieur. The free verse read smoothly and had a natural rhythm to it while the imagery associated to childhood was striking and evocative. I particularly liked the description of the child as a "kinetic ball" in the second stanza, as I thought that it really evoked the energy that the innerchild is meant to personify. The sentiment of the child paying fewer visits as the days go by is also heartfelt, as ultimately there is a certain originality in innocence that people seem to lose as they grow older... (Wordsworth, anyone?) There was one tiny segment of this piece that I didn't like quite as much as the rest, which were the lines "But I can not./ Worse yet." inbetween stanzas four and five. Those two lines didn't really seem to add anything to the poem to me, as they seemed to be implied by the stanzas that followed them. Great stuff! As Yuki kindly pointed out, more of your works would definitely be a welcome addition to the boards!

I like this poem a lot, purple shadows... I think that the concept of wondering what will happen when ghosts touch is both very original and intriguing, and you do a good job of expanding upon the possibilities over the course of the poem. There seems to be a strong opposition between the possibilities of their embracing or passing through one another throughout. One potential thing that might be improved in my opinion is the connection between the touchings of ghosts and the final two lines of the poem, which was a bit unclear to me. Is the narrator inactive, and thus unable to experience that touch and witness the outcome due to his idling as time passes by? That's the general impression I got from it... Good stuff.