Peredhil

I like this... When we will hear this quiet voice again?

I think I'd drop the word "the" for "running in the rain". flows better in my ear. This sounds somewhat Celtic to me, like something from the Lay of Taliesen, or German Anabaptists doctrine put to verse.

This would be an EXCELLENT punk song! You should get with Falcon or one of the other musicians in the Pen and get the music for this.

Hmmm. I can't really reply to this without staunchly disagreeing and then explaining my own perceptions, founded in my Christianity. THAT kettle of worms, I've tried to leave unopened here at the Pen. Personal belief systems will all be resolved quite clearly when each individual dies. Just to say, perception is a wonderful thing... You've summed up the logical end of Existentialism without God. Contrast with Ecclesiastes for Existentialism with God viewpoint...

(Souls == soul's, one 'l' on painful) Very strong imagery. I really hope you haven't seen that - if so, it impacted you differently than I...

Interesting insight into motivations... But my sympathy is still for the victims I guess. Having a hard life in some way is a given, even the most "blessed" manage to find their own internal hells if the external lacks. It's how one endures and overcomes that matters.

Long indeed but worth the read Archmage is gone but the Roses live on...

Interesting. It has good bones to it, but some of the meter seems forced. I'd like to see you revisit this. It has something powerful to say, but I'm not sure what it is yet.

Rewrite is better. Well done. I normally have trouble reading all the way through this sort of thing - I sipped each word and was able to see it all. You're English Teacher prolly doesn't know how lucky they are. Excellence and creativity are often not rewarded in public schools. Too much effort to truly focus when weighted by the volume to view.

They'd always fascinated him. From whence did they come? His mother never answered. Lips pressed into a thin bloodless line, she'd ruthlessly removed them biweekly. He hated unanswered questions from birth. A few threads, a speckle of lint. Cat and Dog hairs most assuredly (although he had neither cat nor dog. (Brief visions of Calico Cats and Ginham Dogs gyrated in two and three dimensions through his inner eye, a cosmic mandala.)) He subjected them to visual analysis as a youth, and to spectrographical laser analysis as a man. They all thought him insane in his fixation; he knew. But for all their common threads drawn together irresistably, there was a certain something... Either very primative or very advanced. Clarke's Law rendering the points moot and ungraphical. He disliked plots which could not be plotted point by point intensely. Thus, reduced to empircal analysis, the last refuge of the Gedanken challenged, he resorted to no longer cleaning his domicile. Despite his minute attention, caffeine driven after the first day, he never caught them forming. One moment the corner was barren, then with a blink or shift of the eye, a dustbunny had popped into existence, negative matter tunnelling into positive. He'd gotten up to be sure, but yes, in the carefully cleansed corner, a precise four inches from the perfectly square bedpost (he'd replaned and leveled it himself, after being annoyed with its variance), there were three small misshapen bundles of lint. Defeated, he'd taken a bathroom break, and met other necessities. Daily observance showed that they multiplied rapidly, at an exponential, not geometric rate. It required the most closely trained eye, for they seemed to merge quite spontaneously. A fascinating, not quite random process. Blink, pop, dustbunny, some rejected to waft out into the room, some fitted into the forming ball according to some arcane ritual. He took volumes of notes, jotted calculations, imposed patterns and rejected them on analysis. The dustbunny grew rapidly during these periods of distraction. Observation imposed a limitation approaching zero. Until the fifth week. That mystery was soon dispelled, weight and picture measurements showed the dustbunny was using it's own bulk to mask the emergence of more. It was after five months, when the dustbunny was roughly 3.14 pounds in weight, that he realized if he didn't crack this case soon, his prepaid rent would come due, and his supplies would run out. Food was optional, but the increased perception and visual inspection of his dustbunny would kill it, he was sure. Damn the Landlord for always stepping in to collect the rent! Damn his probing darting eyes; they'd kill his specimen for certain. It had grown accustomed to HIS gaze. It trusted him. Tacking against the thermal drafts of the floor, it would nuzzle his legs before spinning away teasingly to explore. Each round about the room gathered mass, absorbing the pieces rejected before. In the last month, he'd taken to ever so gently cradling it in his arms, careful not to mash or bruise it's delicate structure. There was increasing pattern and networks to his piercing view. It was at six months and two days the Landlord opened the door to the apartment. The 'Mad Scientist' was quiet and always paid in advance. Had no pets but forgot to bathe for weeks at a time. He'd righteously given him two extra days. Opening the door, he looked at the room in quick jerky movements of his eyes. What the hell was that smell? A pet! The genius had a human side after all! And he was SOOO busted. Pets were an automatic eviction. Moving surely into the bedroom, he stopped in shock. The wasted form was mummified, stretched skin drawn back in rictus grin as the skin had shrunk. Bloodlessly pale, the eyes stared sightlessly at the amazingly clean room. The large grey rabbit wrinkled its pink nose as it hopped hopefully to the Landlord, obviously in need of food and water. Poor cute thing. Gathering it in his arms, he marveled at the soft fur as he moved to call the Police about the dead man. Already he liked the bunny better than its former owner.

genteel piranha? He considered it with one raised brow, until the lurking smile surfaces as he considered JECHUM reading that. And we were so careful not to bite in public... He murmurs, then looks up, You know, there IS a reason I love you so! This is just a reflection of it... An echo... A Fouier Transformation? He carefully maintains his position outside the Spirals, observing.

A good read on this hijacked thread topic is Cyteen by Cherryh. Another one that deals with the ethics and obligations of clones as a tangent topic is in the Miles Vorsigan series by Bujold - starting in Brothers in Arms. I'd look it up, but I'm wary of opening a Bujold book. They suck me in with the phrasing and characterization and I can't afford to lose hours right now.

Peredhil pours him into bed with a 'thank you' and a smile. Silly man, he says fondly

He'd known her since both he and she were children. they'd explored the world together, discussed the mysteries and insanities of life, fought and made up. Later they practiced flirting, because they knew the other was safe. They had some great laughs over that, like the time he'd tried to show her how to use her new hips to slink. She was there when he had the crush on Mindy in 5th grade, and kept hitting her to get attention and knock the cooties off. She was there, seated with the family, when their father died. Like she'd said, they were her parents too, just happened to have different flesh. She was always saying clever things that he'd appreciate. He was a great audience for her, just smart enough to be impressed, but not so smart as to compete. She was there for him when he thought Mandy loved him, and got him weeping drunk and poured him into bed when Mandy left him for a cheerleader. A male cheerleader! How gay was THAT? Must've been the tights - and she made dark sardonic comments about Ted until he was laughing in his tears. She went into the Marines, he went to college. They wrote emails back and forth, as he grew more liberal and she had less and less patience with his point of view. They accused each other of being blind and not understanding - and ended up agreeing they were both right. They didn't understand. She managed to run a four day pass through on a two day notice, and she and one of her battle buddies drove 350 miles to his college when Melissa dumped him. (What WAS it about 'M' girls?) They both took turns holding him until he wanted to live again, then took turns driving on the way back. Made it to formation with fifteen minutes to spare. He hadn't even told her. "Something in your voice when we talked." Heh. It was his turn next, skipping his graduation to be there for her. He met her coming off the plane, all tears and anger. Supported her through her father's funeral, and absorbed her angry words so she could be nice in public. It was he that insisted on her going back to the grave after everyone had gone, at the stroke of midnight. He lit the candle and stuck it on the tombstone for her. When she said closure was stupid, he won her heart by pulling out the gun and taking the first shot. As the granite chips flew, she railed at her father for the secret years of abuse and incest until she cried and asked why he'd never loved her. That's when he held her - and reloaded. The next day, they snickered over the headlines of the vandalization of the beloved Mayor's grave. Had to be careful though, as they were both kinda deaf still. He'd never thought just how loud a .45 could be. When she left to return to base, he returned the gun to her father's house. It was about that time, he realized he loved her. He began to hope that she'd love him back. Yes, in "that way". She knew it of course, the very next phone call. She could always read his voice, his face. She'd once told him that's why she could trust him. She told him if she could love someone like that, it would be him. They went years like that. She advanced in rank. He advanced in his corporation. They joked about his law firm - the liberal sold out. He specialized in Federal Law, and made his name when he defended her on the recruiting charges. He had to laugh at the reporter's description of his "passionate defense" of his client. The idea that some kid who decided he didn't want to go to war accusing HER of sexual misconduct was ludicrous. Sex was his hang-up. She was as close to genderless as possible. When she retired at thirty-seven, they finally married. She said it was so they could argue more conveniently. They cuddled, but there was still no sex. She'd try to meet his needs, but he'd been too sensitive all his life. The shadows in her eyes, the acting, it just ruined it for him. If he'd been a blind rutting male, he'd have been happily fooled, but he was what he was. And she was who she was. He discussed the nuances of law with her, and wasn't surprised to find she was still smarter than he. With a live-in tutor, it took her only four years to pass her Bar exam, specializing in Military Justice. Being a petite blond with enormous green eyes and former Marine didn't hurt her in the courtroom, and was elemental in her choice as a CNN consultant. It was probably why she disappeared. He searched, the law searched. Her co-workers shed a careful tear, careful not to damage the makeup. It was, of course, a Marine who found her body. The Corp never forgot its own, and she'd become legendary with them when she'd busted out Larry King Live, in her best Drill Sergeant whip-voice. It was his last name on the tombstone, but her first name. Hope. Hope Stratera. In all his life, he'd never given up on Hope. He'd never given up Hope. And he'd never broken a promise to Hope. Which is why he shot up her tombstone that night. She would've done it for him.

that's alphabetically wonderful BPO!

Hands her a handy hanky for her drippy demonic nasal leakage.

Check out the oldest post in the Library, Doctor Evil's Guides to... Wonderfully fun reads, even if you never played Archmage. One of our ex-Loremasters, Jechum Newby, used the Doctor's Guides when he started playing. The next reset, he was an Ambassidor for the Pacifists?

Read this. This is an example of why Orlan is Elder of Bards. It also shows that excellence cannot be hidden by minor grammar imperfections - when your Muse calls, don't get hung up on tying your shoes - chase her.

Where is your validation? In a spouse? Children? Friends? God? Where ever you put your validating influence, you will pursue. As a parent of children who occasionally act like hotel room guests (you mean, laundry DOESN'T do itself?) I can sometimes relate to the feelings you've expressed. Well written. I'D miss you.

Taking a moment to thank the Crystal Tides of life that carried you to the Pen. If you haven't read Justin's works, you should. Remember - many of the older pre-this-site won't show up on a search, as they're under a generic -Justin Silverblade- listing. They're worth seeking out. Hugs 19 times.

that's interesting. I'll have to reread it more slowly when I have more time. Good to see you writing again.

Herr Doktor! How simply lovely to see you! Welcome back!!! waves warily at his dearest Enemy.

Wowsers... You continue to raise the bar. Hugs 'cause he knows his Huntress is already lamenting the "flaws" she (but no one else) sees unflinchingly and unforgivingly. You really ARE that good you know...

hmmm, When I want help, I post in the Writer's Workshop. I'm always willing to accept corrective positive suggestions on my posts else where. When I have time, I try to provide constructive feedback on the Writer's Workshop items first, then if I have more time, I work through the public areas. So I'm kinda always in 'helpful' mode in a way. My biggest limitation is time, which currently isn't under my control. On the other hand, there are prolly people who would make time out of their busy schedules if they committed to doing so, and new that was needed/wanted. I see this poll as verifying the first party, helpers, exist and would do this, and also verifying the second party, helpees, exist and want/desire help. two geld...

The symphony orchestra was performing Beethoven's Ninth. In the piece, there's a long passage, about 20 minutes, during which the bass violinists have nothing to do. Rather than sit around that whole time looking stupid, some bassists decided to sneak offstage and go to the tavern next door for a quick one. After slamming several beers in quick succession, one of them looked at his watch and said, "Hey! We need to get back!" "No need to panic," said a fellow bassist. "I thought we might need some extra time, so I tied the last few pages of the conductor's score together with string. It will take him a few minutes to get it untangled." A few moments later they staggered back to the concert hall and took their places in the orchestra. About this time, a member of the audience noticed the conductor seemed a bit edgy and said as much to her companion. "Well, of course," said her companion. "Don't you see? It's the bottom of the Ninth, the score is tied, and the bassists are loaded." ~~~~ A man is driving along a highway and sees a rabbit jump out across the middle of the road. He swerves to avoid hitting it, but unfortunately the rabbit jumps right in front of the car. The driver, a sensitive man as well as an animal lover, pulls over and gets out to see what has become of the rabbit. Much to his dismay, the rabbit is dead. The driver feels so awful that he begins to cry. A beautiful blonde woman driving down the highway sees a man crying n the side of the road and pulls over. She steps out of the car and asks the man what's wrong? "I feel terrible, 'he explains, "I accidentally hit this rabbit and killed it." The blonde says, "Don't worry." She runs to her car and pulls out a spray can. She walks over to the limp, dead rabbit, bends down and sprays the contents onto the rabbit. The rabbit jumps up, waves its paw at the two of them and hops off down the road. Ten feet away the rabbit stops, turns around and waves again, he hops down the road another 10 feet, turns and waves, hops another ten feet, turns and waves and repeats this again and again and again, until he hops off out of sight. The man is astonished. He runs over to the woman and demands, "What is in that can? What did you spray on that rabbit?" The woman turns the can around so that the man can read the label. It says..... Hare Spray - Restores life to dead hare, adds permanent wave