04.30.02 >2223

To all you French denizens out there: Happy Camerone Day!

To all you non-French denizens out there: Happy Camerone Day, anyway.

04.28.02 >1525

Happy 23rd Anniversary, Mum and Dad!

I, I feel so alive
For the very first time
I can't deny you
I, I feel so alive
For the very first time
And I think I can fly

- P.O.D., "Alive," Satellite
Bustin' through a funky state of mind isn't too hard when you've got a kool beat bumpin'.

04.26.02 >1825

Bam bam bam.

Staccato bursts of screams, laughter, joy, heat and despair well up behind my eyes, fading like a water blotch as soon as they explode into existence.

My words are life. No, they are death. Ah, those moments of indecision, when what's meant for what you think it should be about faces to show you an ugly, burnt mask instead. My quill is snatched away by Almighty God, to be replaced with simple charcoal and a bare slate. "Your soul's not worth the expense," they sneer, expressing satisfaction at my deteriorated state. But the brush of wings and musical voices assure me of my pricelessness. I glance up at at the angel, my angel, and blink in uncertainty - her touch is ice, her eyes unseeing. Is she real? Can't be. Won't believe.

I am persuaded to carry burdens I do not own up a path I did not choose. I stumble, they laugh. She sneers. I fall, they pounce. Evil is more preferable this hour than it was before belief. Ah, Pain! Where are you that I may enjoy your company! Surely you care for me more than he who shatters my soul.

"Ah, but are you broken?" He asks, and I must confess that I am not. Seams crackle through faith's coverings, doubt stabs my heart without fail, but my demeanor before Him must be improved. Though they pound me, though she mocks me, my moulding continues. Reprieve is found within the light of His throne, within reach of His touch, within the sound of His voice. On the outskirts of His dwelling, they howl in frustration and she flits in agitation, unable to grasp, to rack me with tooth, claw or meaningless word.

And I am content.


I am havin' way too much fun with this thing. The hero machine, yo! (link via Blogatelle)


Readin' an extraordinary novel and old PH posts is definitely a good way to stay awake at this ungodly hour.


My foot sinks into mud that is made of dirt and more blood than water. This field was dry enough when we began. The stench of blood is unmistakable. Blood is a red mist adrift before us like morning fog in the air.

My second spear shatters against an unfortunate alignment of shield, armor, sinew and bone. A Persian, the ringlets in his beard flapping about his bloody face, falls away with the point of my spear still in him.

Jamming the splintered end into another skirmisher, I draw my machaira and begin swinging.

The wide end of the blade swings into the ribcage of a slave skirmisher – he looks to be all of fifteen – his blood warms my knuckles as he drops, shrieking and kicking, before me.

I have become my Phalanx. I no longer know where I end and they begin. We are one, like a hungry centipede pushing its way into an anthill.

Just over two hundred paces from where we started. My arm had been tiring a short time ago, but now I feel as though we’ve just begun.

I hope these Persians have powerful gods. They’re going to need them.

I am Phalanx. I am Hellas.

- Tantalus of Sparta
Where war is concerned, the Ancient Greeks definitely rock.

04.25.02 >2120

Eyeing N.B.A., China Will Make Athletes Pay : "Yao's team, the Shanghai Sharks, has said it will support his participation in the N.B.A. draft in June after blocking him in previous years. But Beijing has yet to approve any move by Yao, 22, who led his team to the China Basketball Association championship last week, and the government published strict new regulations today for Chinese athletes who want to play professionally abroad."


With some hesitation (me being the self-doubting writer that I am), I present "The Bully," the Revised Edition.

If I hadn't had to turn in another piece for the writer's workshop, I probly wouldn't have gotten around to fixing up this story.

The main character in this little fictitious tidbit, Rhiain O'Connell, was created for an interactive novel at PanHistoria. "The Bully" is part of a series I began to flesh out her background and history a bit more, but I tried to incorporate some factors from the other parts of the series so this story could stand alone.

Please enjoy. Any constructive criticism would be welcomed.


This writer's workshop has taught me a couple things: spouting rhetoric about writing methods and actually practicing them are two completely different things. And for the record, the former can be very boring at times; the latter is always fun.

Out of the characters I've created during the past year or so, I think I've yet to create a villainess true to my heart. Maybe it's 'cause I really don't have much of an evil streak that it's hard to come up with a credible bad girl, but I think I've finally managed to mold a monster in Lady Deimes. More coming soon on this. (Someone kick me if I don't have somethin' by Monday.) Kudos to Sean, my partner in crime, for giving me sharing/contributing to this idea.

Not-so-random lyric that's been in my head for awhile now: "And my heart burns for You..."

04.24.02 >2316

Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by,
that here obedient to their laws we lie.

- Simonides, the Spartan poet
from the monument commemorating the battle at Thermopylae, 480 B.C.

04.23.02 >2233

For you parents out there: Raising Hell is here! New blog on parenting, and so far it seems pretty koo-el. And if the title shocks you ... heh, I guess you're either not a parent or you've never had probs with your kid before. I think my folks would have some stories to tell if they got invited to write for this blog. If they had a blog for the kids to tell their stories, I'd be all over it. (And so would the other thousand teenagers who keep blogs on the Net.)


Happy Belated Earth Day.

My former roomie Chris came by a few hours ago to pick up quite a formidable stack of mail that hadn't been forwarded to her new address. While she was here she invited me to her birthday/graduation party next month, and told me a little about how her new roomies are doing. Out of the three guys she lives with, I only know Kambiz. Loud, opinionated and often very drunk Kambiz. I swear, this guy tries to get wasted every night of the week. I 'member all the times he used to come over to the apartment when Chris lived here; a couple times he tried to get me to drink with 'em. One time Chris succeeded, though I was curious at the time about what alcohol tasted like (and after that night I swore I'd never touch another drop of alcohol again). I find this to very amusing, actually. He knows I'm a Christian and will probably keep asking me to "try it" until I cave. And I'll just keep saying no.

(Addendum: I thought about this further and realized that some Christians probably drink wine now and then - not that I mean to make myself look like some self-righteous person, I guess I mean to say that alcohol just ain't my thing.)

04.21.02 >1626

"Y'all" : Country Origins?

We were driving towards Oakland on Friday for the Shiloh youth conference when Lare got into a friendly argument with Chris Roberts, one of our carpoolees.

"Y'all came from country music," Chris insisted.

Larry dismissed this with a snort. "They say it in rap, too."

"So? It's a country thing."

We get to the church and find seats. Onstage some people are performing a skit before the worship service starts - there are four people armed with microphones and wearing army gear. Definitely not country folk. "So when're y'all gonna sign up t' join the Armed Forces?" one of them asks his fellow actors.

"See?" I hear Larry hiss several chairs away. "Toldja it wasn't just country!"