i know there is at least one person in the world who is, or has, looked at this thing so for you-- whomever you are, is more. i just hope you like it.

November 14th 2001

I have been dating my entries wrong. Two of them at least. November comes after October. September comes before. Why did I not know that until I saw the paper. I saw the date and put the paper’s date on my journal.

Was I looking at old papers? No. That’s not possible. Surely I would know if they were old. I didn’t know what was in them. I didn’t know what they were talking about so surely they were new. I just looked at the pile that is all over the place.

The pile I think I scattered in one of my rages a long while back, or was it just a little while back... I don’t know. I can’t remember. There are dates from June 6th 1998 to April 22nd 2005. I don’t recall either of these years. I don’t remember anything from the papers. I don’t remember a single event. I have no clue who these people are.

Who are these people? What is going on? What day is it? What year? Why can I not at least know the date?

I guess I should not date my entries based on old newspapers anymore.

Saturday

I no longer wish to date my entries. Why should I. It doesn’t matter. My dates will not match up to any real ones. Besides, I just read something rather depressing on the cover of the paper I read for today, apparently something rather wretched happened on September 11th. Something about some planes and large buildings in New York.

I ran about outside again. Ran I suppose is not an accurate word. I don’t run, I don’t walk, I am not exactly sure how I move. Science says that one must have something to push against in order to move in relation, but I can push against nothing. I go through things and it is most irritating not being able to lean against a wall or sit upon a couch. Well sometimes I can’t and sometimes I can.

Right now I am sitting on the window sill writing. Not that it matters where I write. The light only makes things turn various shades of grey.

I really don’t like the color grey.

Entry 6

I have decided that calling days by their names is almost as foolish as trying to guess the date by old headlines. So I won’t. I shall instead date my entries as I have this one.

I realized last night just how big and isolated this house is. It truly is. It looks like a small palace. There is marble everywhere and stone and glass and rooms upon rooms for me to wander through. A perfect place for me to– no, we won’t make a crack like that. It isn’t funny.

Not funny at all.

ghost, again

i know there is at least one person in the world who is, or has, looked at this thing so for you-- whomever you are, is more. i just hope you like it.

November 14th 2001

I have been dating my entries wrong. Two of them at least. November comes after October. September comes before. Why did I not know that until I saw the paper. I saw the date and put the paper’s date on my journal.

Was I looking at old papers? No. That’s not possible. Surely I would know if they were old. I didn’t know what was in them. I didn’t know what they were talking about so surely they were new.

I just looked at the pile that is all over the place. The pile I think I scattered in one of my rages a long while back, or was it just a little while back... I don’t know. I can’t remember. There are dates from June 6th 1998 to April 22nd 2005.

I don’t recall either of these years. I don’t remember anything from the papers. I don’t remember a single event. I have no clue who these people are. Who are these people? What is going on?

What day is it? What year?

Why can I not at least know the date?

I guess I should not date my entries based on old newspapers anymore.


Saturday

I no longer wish to date my entries. Why should I. It doesn’t matter. My dates will not match up to any real ones. Besides, I just read something rather depressing on the cover of the paper I read for today, apparently something rather wretched happened on September 11th. Something about some planes and large buildings in New York.

I ran about outside again. Ran I suppose is not an accurate word. I don’t run, I don’t walk, I am not exactly sure how I move. Science says that one must have something to push against in order to move in relation, but I can push against nothing. I go through things and it is most irritating not being able to lean against a wall or sit upon a couch. Well sometimes I can’t and sometimes I can. Right now I am sitting on the window sill writing. Not that it matters where I write. The light only makes things turn various shades of grey.

I really don’t like the color grey.


Entry 6

I have decided that calling days by their names is almost as foolish as trying to guess the date by old headlines. So I won’t. I shall instead date my entries as I have this one.

I realized last night just how big and isolated this house is. It truly is. It looks like a small palace. There is marble everywhere and stone and glass and rooms upon rooms for me to wander through. A perfect place for me to– no, we won’t make a crack like that. It isn’t funny. Not funny at all.

ghost

this is a story inspired by the thought, "what is it like to be a ghost that haunts a place. what if you are one of those ghosts who is not angry and just appears now and then. what would it be like for them?"

so here it is-- the ghost. i hope you enjoy.



October 31st 2001

I figured out how to use a pen today. Well I know how to use a pen; the trick was in learning how to hold it. Upright. Solid, ok, maybe not that solid. It slides around a lot. My letters are big and squiggly. Like a child.

Listen to me. How I ramble. I can actually move something. I. Me. Can move a physical object. I can do it. Here’s my proof. This writing. It is hard to write all this. I am tired already. But I am too excited to stop now. I may ramble but I ramble with joy. For it is my ramble. My first honest ramble in so long it hurts. I would say physically hurts but that is quite impossible. I cannot hurt and that is why it is such a joy to write and to feel tired even though I do not really feel tired any more than I hurt.

Still I ramble. I feel I am destined to ramble. Every time I want to write something purposeful I ramble. Always have. What a silly statement, another! I don’t know whether I have always rambled. I just feel like I have. Never thought on it before, had no reason.

Oh dear the pen is falling. It is too much for me. I must go. I will return. I must. I can write. I can be heard. I can be.

September 2nd 2001

I am back. And I can hold the pen better. My letters are still big and wobbly but I no longer have loops on odd letters and curious zigs. Why, I say I’m writing at least as well as your average doctor.

Ha ha. I made a joke. I think it is funny but I only know it, I don’t feel it. I must say I am very glad that the people who were here before me were so kind as to leave this notebook and my dear blue Bic pen.

I never in my life thought I would so treasure a blue Bic pen so. But I do.

I just realized that I said "never in my life." Why must it be so hard. So hard to think about it. Despite the fact that I have had nothing but time. I sit and stand and lay about and think a lot. But I still don’t want to think on it. I suppose it should be natural but that would imply my situation was in the least natural.

I wish looking in the mirror resulted in even the least favorable results.


September 10th 2001

Sorry I was away so long. My last entry was not so fun. It brought up bad memories. I suppose I shall have to deal with them at some point but I don’t know when that shall be. For now I am content to not think about them at all.

I spent all of today lying on the grass staring at the sky. I am not sure why. It is not like I see much. There is some grey. Over on that side is some darker grey. At my feet I think may be a cloud as I am not sure what else it could be.

I see no color in the sky. I am not certain I can. See color I mean. There isn’t any anywhere. It is all so– gone. Empty. Not dead so much as barren, sanitized. Like God just decided he wanted to repaint everything and wiped it clear with a rag.

I used to love black and white movies. I thought they were great and poignant. I would sit and watch and weep. Citizen Kane was my favorite. I was never a big fan of Casablanca. My friend would gasp to hear it but it’s true. I found it to be... not my kind of movie. I nearly fell asleep the first time.

There I go again. Talking of bad memories. I need to not do that. This is my diary now,and the soon to be and the hope to be’s. I refuse to talk about bad things.

Besides I have my blue Bic with me. I love blue so I am happy to write in blue.

I just realized I don’t know what color my pen really is. I assumed it was blue. I just saw it and I knew. But I don’t know. I haven’t seen it, the color, I just assumed it was blue. But I can’t see color. How do I know this pen is blue? I don’t but I do. I am so confused.

How do I know my pen is blue?

mwa ha ha

i am not going to delete this blog after all. i am just going to take it in a new direction. mwa ha ha ha ha.

i am going to post the stories directly. yup. that is what i shall do.

starting with... i'll figure it out soon enough.

this blog will likely be deleted soon in favor of my new lj story blog wyrd_tales. yay!

nottingham

go with me for a moment-- what would the story of robinhood be like if told from the perspective of the sherriff. let's say he's not a bad guy, he's smart, and good at his job, but his job is to get money out of people who have never had any in order to fund a pointless war led by a king that (if you really think about it) is a terrible ruler and has to deal at the same time with an ambitious and greedy if non-too competant wanna-be-king and keep him from destroying his shire?

what if robin (i loved him as much as anybody so just go with me here) were not the cunning, loyal, and courageous hero of the people we have been taught, but a spoiled, single-minded-- broke (and therefore without said lordship) which gives him a mighty case of enmity, malcontent brat who no longer has a cosy life and therefore survives by stiring up trouble and just being a violent jerk?

what if friar tuck is in the woods because he was kicked out of his monestary for being a drunken lecher?

what if maid marian is an idealistic ninny with asperations to nobility despite being common and perhaps even poor. and what if the "maid" title is just a sarcastic jab at her being anything but?

what if will scarlet is a flaming homosexual. what if he is in love with alan?

what if little john is a violent drunkard?

much is a simple lad, but with quick fingers?

what if allan a'dale is a devout christian and is only a bard because his family couldn't afford to put him in the church?

David o'Doncaster, Ellen, Scathelock-- i'm working their "bits" out

so whaddya think?

Dessa

something i have been thinking about for some time now but only recently given real consideration. i was debating whether or not to write dessa as episodic. you know take certain points both high and low and write only about them, not try to string them together as one long story, which if i did i would only be able to write a small part of her story. you see the thing begins when she is 19/20 and ends either at 43 or 47. it takes place over a long period of time and trying to link the whole thing smoothly would be both a pain and prevent it from flowing correctly.

and i really have no interest in stringing this one out. so i think i'll go episodic.

i have already thought of a few of the episodes. my favorite so far is one where she is interviewed at the end. she has turned herself in (allowed herself to be caught) and gives permission for an interview. she gets pissed at all the experienced reporters because their questions are what she feels are formulaic and informed but not insightful.

so she picks a young woman a... let's see, something that's equivalent to a college student who has little experience, somehow dessa caught a small time newspaper type thing with one of her articles in it and liked it.

i am working on the interview now. i'll bring it to ya as soon as i can.

Dessa

wanna meet my outlaw-- she ain't very nice. but here she is. Keep in mind this is a very shortened version. the original was lost some time ago and i am recunstructing this from memory. I have also only had a small amount of time actually re-writing. there will be more detail to follow. please-- give advice and such.

Dessa– main character. Was irritatingly good. Is now a criminal mafia leader type. Sorta organizes the un-organizable riff raff into her little "empire" becomes incredibly powerful and wealthy. Chooses to go back to prison in her 40s cause she’s sick of free life.

Dega– riddick like character. Big, attractive, deadly. Relationship to Dessa– they escaped the Kreian together. They are lovers/haters/allies/enemies/everything you could imagine two people could be to each other

Joshua Oboke– a man (almost too attractive) that has connections (blood) with the royal family and is a member of the military. He is actually a competent officer. She meets him at a fancy "family" shindig while she is on a job. He takes to her and they go and shag in a side room. While arranging themselves after she stuns him (knocks out) and leaves him to finish her job. They meet again many times there after, and she knocks him on his ass almost everytime. May or may not be the man who arrests her in the end.

Shaz– Dessa’s right hand. She is always drunk yet has a stunningly accurate shot. Anything that can be fired is her bitch and opponents are smoke. "Runs" the bar. Shows Dessa how to survive and thrive on Cloaca.

Grizzer– the old man on the kreian that takes Dessa in and teaches her to survive the dark side of humanity. He is her mentor and friend. When she escapes he chooses to stay behind. He chose to go there in the first place and wants to stay. It is his "home" and he is a type of king there.

Cloaca– the "dead" planet where the criminals rule due to it being outside official rrf territory. There are zones of the city which determine where folks can trespass. The city with the landing ports is common territory. Everyone can work, live, visit there. The outlying areas are filled with those who make cloaca their home. Most are there because they cannot live in rrf territory. They fiercely defend their homes from the people who just run through the port. Port folks use liaisons to do business with those in locals-only. It is paradoxically safer in locals-only than in port city simply because everyone is aware of how dangerous everyone else in the city is and they adopt a policy of live and let. Trespassers are another story and may be dispatched with in any number of ways including the most common, rats/street rats= the children of locals-only.

Apple/british– no one knows where he’s from, doesn’t really matter. He is called apple because his face is very round and he always looks like he’s just eaten a sour one. British because he has a crappy and badly effected english accent. He is not too smart and is used primarily as a liaison between port and locals-only. Is dessa’s bitch because she chose not to kill him when he tried to attack her just after she’d arrived on Cloaca and entered locals-only.

Solomon– aka God. This man is the go to guy on cloaca for information. Has many addictions, most of them expensive. Despite this is very high functioning and smart. He is known for being wily and cunning.

Dessa was a goody-two shoes type. She was a girl from a moderately successful family and went into the military as soon as she was legally allowed.

She was picked by one of those ultra-secret groups to be their guinea pig. They wanted her to infiltrate the criminal rings operating on the citadel where she was stationed. In order to control her they implanted a biotechnical device theat grows to fit. It is located at the base of the brain and controls all functions and feelings. She is caught and abandoned by the group.

She is transported to a planetary prison, known as a kreian, where she meets Grizzer and Dega.
With Dega and a few others they recycle a bunch of terraforming equipment and turn it into a barely functional ship. When they launch off the planet they immediately issue a distress call.

They take over the ship that answers and kill all the occupants. They then redirect immediately to Cloaca and out of the RRFs territory.

All members split up and go their own ways. Some decide to go back into rrf territory. Others stay on the planet. She is one.

She goes to a bar Grizzer told her about and claims it. It is a true hole in the wall in the locals only part of Cloaca. Locals-only is a completely separate entity on the planet. It is considered a separate city despite the fact that it surrounds and completely engulfs the central port city.
There she meets shaz. The two hit it off as best as two people here can. Shaz essentially moves under the bar (literally) and dessa takes her room. Slowly shaz reveals how the bar makes money and where all the secret spots are– like the massive apt right above the bar which can only be accessed via another secret area behind it.

Dessa networks and engages in both direct and indirect criminal activities all the while taking over other, less well controlled networks, and criminal activities on the planet. Eventually she dominates the whole place and even controls a lot of activity off planet and in rrf territory. All of it is loosely organized and shaz is propped up as the "head." At some point Shaz is killed because of this. She even inveigles her way into rrf and civilian politics via favors she has handed out and performed for them.

At some point for some reason she decides to "retire." She turns herself into the authorities without fight on the promise that she will be returned to the Kreian to live out her life, and not be harmed in any way or kept for a significant length of time in any other holding facility.
There are many well-meant but needless attempts to "rescue" her by her allies and loyal followers. She rejects them all. She is returned to the Kreian where she finds Grizzer almost dead. They enjoy a brief reconciliation before he dies and passes the planets "throne" off to her.
The End.