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

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

WIP

Working on chapter 4 of the novel doing rewrites. Sprinkling world building details and more of the interior landscape of the protag the way Jackson Pollock applied paint to canvas.
As long as the families didn't abuse our positions, the balance maintained and nobody who didn't need to be hurt got hurt. A live and let live mentality prevailed. Not that it was or would always be that way. That the families kept bladesmen, the embodiment and defenders of their honor, spoke in a louder volume than a police blotter ever would.


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