I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Trying the Patience of the Muse

Okay, so I said I really didn't want to take time out to get a short story out and what happens. The Muse laughs in my face.

"We came in at the ass end of a brainless operation on our mission to secure a spit of coarse sand. A great amphibious assault to take a fishing village, one that hadn't recovered from the fall of the ancient world, the failure of state, and the tsunami that had washed the present away to expose the ragged, cavity speckled, wooden-teeth of the past. Raas Xaafun, the middle-finger Somalia gave the Indian Ocean. Gateway to the Gulf of Aden."

Piracy, despondency, fishing, coelacanths, Deep Ones, Esoteric Order of Dagon, ancient history, guys with guns, and really neat place names. What more could you want. Oh yes; gibbous, squamous , ichor, elder, non-euclidean geometry, and madness. Oh yes, there will be madness.

So about 500 words came streaming out. Now I hope I can get back to work? Or will I continue dream-walking to Unknown Kadeth?

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