Untitled -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
Untitled -- Original Draft
“Hail, cousin, and well met! It's been a long year!” cried Urist McGhortaz, raising his flask in greeting. He was a famous tradesdwarf and the royally-appointed broker of the great mountainhome Mulagrieveb—which in the Common Tongue was called Glacierbone.
“Well met ya'self, ya drunken oaf!” roared Urist McHindin, who was, to be precise, McGhortaz's sixth cousin thrice-removed, coming from the far-flung fortress Granitechurned.
“No more drunken than you, lad! Our fortunes rise and fall together!” said McGhortaz, laughing. “What took the caravan so long? We expected you a month and half ago. I
Hero -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
Hero -- Original Draft
“Stop! I said stay still!”
His voice was loud and frantic, and his eyes flashed as he pointed the gun at me. I stopped edging forward and slowly raised my hands.
“Now listen,” he said, “this isn't a joke. I don't want to hurt anybody, I just really need the cash. I'm not a bad guy.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself.
“Of course not,” I said, in what I hoped was a soothing voice. “It's just that you're scaring the kids over there.”
His eyes jerked to the corner of the gas station, by the soda fountain, where the two kids were crouched, whimpering, behind their mother. A
The Best Vacation Ever -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
The Best Vacation Ever -- Original Draft
Kyle had a flight to catch in the morning, but he ended up staying up late anyway. It was partly out of nerves. He was flying clear across the country, alone, to a city he’d never visited before, to go to a “geek culture” convention. Five days in the company of an enormous gathering of nerds like himself—it was going to be wonderful. It would be expensive, but the experience would be worth a lifetime. Of course, he had to get there first, and to do that he had to pack.
He knew he shouldn’t have left it so late, but there had just been so much else to do; from securing tickets for the flight and the convention,
Threshold of a Dream -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
Threshold of a Dream -- Original Draft
"The most merciful thing in the world...is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far...but someday the piecing together of dissociated knowledge [may] open up such terrifying vistas of reality—and of our frightful position therein—that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."
The dream began innocently enough, I suppose: I woke up to the sound of my alarm, much as I do every day. At the time, you see, I thought I was waking u
The Last Green Door -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
The Last Green Door -- Original Draft
It was about five years ago, now, that Miss Lucy died. The whole town was shocked by it, you know. It was very sudden. Nobody really understood how it happened. The doctors all said there was nothing wrong with her afterward. Except, of course, that she was dead. Her heart had just suddenly stopped, they said, but there was no heart attack, no blood clots; no sign of anything that could conceivably have caused it.
We have our own theory though, some of us. The doctors ignore us when we talk about it. Just like the police ignored us when we tried to explain. It's still not taken very seriously; sometimes I can hardly believe it myself, but
Pleasure and Happiness -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
Pleasure and Happiness -- Original Draft
"When I was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of SansSouci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and
Alone.
I walk alone.
There's no one here. Alone
As I have ever felt. Alone
As anyone has ever been. Alone
Here with the starry sky above my head. Alone
With only tears and bitter thoughts, alone
Now that you've gone away; alone
Forevermore. Alone.
Always alone.
Alone...
In present, in past,
From time out o' mind,
He drifts by, not fast,
Watching all he can find.
He smiles, and he flies,
And he writes it all down,
And he knows if he dies,
That it all will be found
By another just like him
Who'll carry it on,
Who'll compose and who'll limn
And continue the song:
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,
Ohhhh, ohhhh, ohhhh...Jokerman.
Good writing must be avant-garde:
I innovate like I breathe air.
To write, alas, is always hard.
Behold, I am the layman's bard:
I scribble, and the people stare.
Good writing must be avant-garde.
Or else, perhaps, you will discard
My work, and pass me on the stair.
To write, alas, is always hard.
To be unseen's my calling card
Because I live in a world where
Good writing must be avant-garde
And yet what's new is always marred
By editors: They leave it bare.
To write, alas, is always hard.
The new I shape, the old I guard;
Sleep flees at Inspiration's glare.
Good writing must be avant-garde,
For to write, alas, is always har
Untitled -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
Untitled -- Original Draft
“Hail, cousin, and well met! It's been a long year!” cried Urist McGhortaz, raising his flask in greeting. He was a famous tradesdwarf and the royally-appointed broker of the great mountainhome Mulagrieveb—which in the Common Tongue was called Glacierbone.
“Well met ya'self, ya drunken oaf!” roared Urist McHindin, who was, to be precise, McGhortaz's sixth cousin thrice-removed, coming from the far-flung fortress Granitechurned.
“No more drunken than you, lad! Our fortunes rise and fall together!” said McGhortaz, laughing. “What took the caravan so long? We expected you a month and half ago. I
Hero -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
Hero -- Original Draft
“Stop! I said stay still!”
His voice was loud and frantic, and his eyes flashed as he pointed the gun at me. I stopped edging forward and slowly raised my hands.
“Now listen,” he said, “this isn't a joke. I don't want to hurt anybody, I just really need the cash. I'm not a bad guy.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself.
“Of course not,” I said, in what I hoped was a soothing voice. “It's just that you're scaring the kids over there.”
His eyes jerked to the corner of the gas station, by the soda fountain, where the two kids were crouched, whimpering, behind their mother. A
The Best Vacation Ever -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
The Best Vacation Ever -- Original Draft
Kyle had a flight to catch in the morning, but he ended up staying up late anyway. It was partly out of nerves. He was flying clear across the country, alone, to a city he’d never visited before, to go to a “geek culture” convention. Five days in the company of an enormous gathering of nerds like himself—it was going to be wonderful. It would be expensive, but the experience would be worth a lifetime. Of course, he had to get there first, and to do that he had to pack.
He knew he shouldn’t have left it so late, but there had just been so much else to do; from securing tickets for the flight and the convention,
Threshold of a Dream -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
Threshold of a Dream -- Original Draft
"The most merciful thing in the world...is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far...but someday the piecing together of dissociated knowledge [may] open up such terrifying vistas of reality—and of our frightful position therein—that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."
The dream began innocently enough, I suppose: I woke up to the sound of my alarm, much as I do every day. At the time, you see, I thought I was waking u
The Last Green Door -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
The Last Green Door -- Original Draft
It was about five years ago, now, that Miss Lucy died. The whole town was shocked by it, you know. It was very sudden. Nobody really understood how it happened. The doctors all said there was nothing wrong with her afterward. Except, of course, that she was dead. Her heart had just suddenly stopped, they said, but there was no heart attack, no blood clots; no sign of anything that could conceivably have caused it.
We have our own theory though, some of us. The doctors ignore us when we talk about it. Just like the police ignored us when we tried to explain. It's still not taken very seriously; sometimes I can hardly believe it myself, but
Pleasure and Happiness -- Original Draft by BackslashEcho, literature
Literature
Pleasure and Happiness -- Original Draft
"When I was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of SansSouci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and
Alone.
I walk alone.
There's no one here. Alone
As I have ever felt. Alone
As anyone has ever been. Alone
Here with the starry sky above my head. Alone
With only tears and bitter thoughts, alone
Now that you've gone away; alone
Forevermore. Alone.
Always alone.
Alone...
In present, in past,
From time out o' mind,
He drifts by, not fast,
Watching all he can find.
He smiles, and he flies,
And he writes it all down,
And he knows if he dies,
That it all will be found
By another just like him
Who'll carry it on,
Who'll compose and who'll limn
And continue the song:
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,
Ohhhh, ohhhh, ohhhh...Jokerman.
Good writing must be avant-garde:
I innovate like I breathe air.
To write, alas, is always hard.
Behold, I am the layman's bard:
I scribble, and the people stare.
Good writing must be avant-garde.
Or else, perhaps, you will discard
My work, and pass me on the stair.
To write, alas, is always hard.
To be unseen's my calling card
Because I live in a world where
Good writing must be avant-garde
And yet what's new is always marred
By editors: They leave it bare.
To write, alas, is always hard.
The new I shape, the old I guard;
Sleep flees at Inspiration's glare.
Good writing must be avant-garde,
For to write, alas, is always har
A shiver ran up Selena's spine as sweat dripped down her face. She stared intently at the book propped upon her knee as she sat upon the flower-patterned sofa she had inherited from her grandmother six years ago today. As she leaned forward, narrowing her eyes to read more carefully in the light cast by the brass floor lamp, her light green blouse came a little untucked from her light-washed jeans. Tucking a lock of her sandy hair behind her ear, she glanced around the room, noting the muted TV showing CNN, the "flip-flop" style sandals sitting by the door leading outside, and the pair of slippers she wore around the apartment, which were ly
Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The trouble-makers. The round heads in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status-quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them. But the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.
Current Residence: Home deviantWEAR sizing preference: Large Favourite genre of music: Just about anything, if I like something about it. Favourite style of art: Mostly classic stuff. Nothing abstract, thanks. MP3 player of choice: iPod classic Wallpaper of choice: Blank black with Stickynotes. Personal Quote: Here's to hell.
Jeez, all that info from the last journal is so wrong. Well, most of it, anyway. XD
I can still most commonly be found on my twitter, so if you haven't added me there, do please take the chance to do so.
My new main domain is at backslashecho.com, although Adaptation Decay will still be eventually placed at adaptationdecay.com, as soon as I figure out what the hell happened to my domain.
Sanguine Journey is on hiatus (Is it still called 'hiatus' when it didn't actually start?) because both of us are busy a lot. I, at least, am working 4-5 days a week, and still going to school full time. I have my hands so full that I drop stuff all over t
Jeez, prepping a journal takes so long these days...ah well, I'll keep this on the short side again.
I can most commonly be found on my twitter, so if you haven't added me there, you can take the chance to do so. I'm also still online pretty often at adaptationdecay.com, so keep an eye out there.
However, the real point of this journal is to announce (drumroll) that I have been conscripted as the writer and creative director of a webcomic!
You can find it at sanguinejourney.com!
I'm really excited about it! I always figured I wouldn't be able to make a webcomic even if I wanted to, because I can't draw. Thus, I channeled my energies into
O HAI DEVIANTART! FANCY SEEING YOU HERE!
I'm not all that surprised that I haven't been posting around here much, because the creative energy I usually would have used for pen-and-paper outlets have been going digital in the form of videos, which can be viewed at my new domain! Check it out at adaptationdecay.com!
In truth, every time I've put pen to paper recently, the verses have been absolute tripe on a bike, if I may borrow a phrase from Zero Punctuation. Also, until I can set aside some productive time to do some real brainstorming and storyboarding, the novel's not going anywhere either. Sooooo, call that a new year's resolution come