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Feb. 7th, 2011

cookie, dragon

Sign Here, Brigit's Flame Week 2 JFF

Author's Note: The following is a work of historical fiction based on true events, and the names used are real names. As a fictional piece, however, the details of this story should by no means be interpreted as absolute truth and should not be expected to adhere to all that is known about the people and events involved.

Much of the original formatting was lost, so I apologize for any confusion. Ideally the whole thing would be written in two different fonts, but I can't figure out how to do that in Livejournal. If it seems something should be formatted differently, assume that it had been!

Sign Here
Only human. That phrase forgives far too much of a species that never stops killing itself over petty disagreements, never stops destroying its own planet for the sake of convenience.

A pair of legs emerge from a mass of blankets, and gingerly lower to the floor. A foot moves in front of another foot.

Every step man takes, he crushes others. What a selfish creature.

An optic nerve perceives, directly across from it, two black dots centered in two white spheres enveloped in wrinkled skin, flesh and bone. Behind the bone, some intertwined blobs tell each other with electrical impulses that this is an illusion created by a pane of glass set in front of a pane of metal. Just the reflection of an all-too-familiar silver-haired man.

Why am I he? Why must I be a man who so closely resembles those other men who massacred for gold, God, and glory? As other students listened enraptured to those parts of history, I sat disgusted. I saw what they did not see, that men made the same mistakes over and over across centuries, that his eagerness for war and profit was not a sign of righteousness but a sign of corruption. That the only time a man is innocent is when he is born...

White cloth billows then settles across two shoulders. A hand squeezes a metal clip and releases it. From a pocket now hangs a card reading

Dr. Allen Zarkin, M.D.
Obstetrics & Gynecology
Beth Israel Hospital

They may start out as blank slates, but eventually their birth means a little less is left for Earth. I used to see them as pristine hope, but now I know how quickly they corrupt and decay.

A hand opens a schedule book with the image of the Earth on its cover. Under "September 7th, 1999," black ink bleeding into the white paper reads

Ceasarian section, Liana Getz

Ironic how I’ve ended up bringing little bundles of destruction into the world. People really shouldn’t bother making them anymore. Stupid pompous fools, thinking that their baby might save the world, when millions before couldn’t.
A man approaches the operating theatre, his coat fluttering to his aggressive strides. He jerks open the door.
Women have children too easily now. Pain used to keep population growth in check, but now we need to resort to limits outside the physical. I commend whoever signed approval of the One Child policy in China. Truly, a stroke of genius. If the United States government employed based on intelligence, they could save the world with pens.

He picks up a scalpel.

If I had found the proper job, I could sign something like that for the United States. Surely someone intelligent enough to be a doctor would qualify to keep the population down. But I don’t work with a pen.

A new Homo sapiens emerges from its amniotic sack, uttering its first wail.

Yet I can still sign something. Yes, I’ll sign.

The scalpel applies gentle pressure below a line of stitches. It carves diagonally upward to the right, then downward to the right, and makes a straight horizontal line connecting the two diagonals. Then another horizontal, a diagonal down to the left, and a horizontal to the right. Blood wells up in a distinct shape: AZ. A pair of bright, young eyes peer over a masked mouth and nose in questioning disbelief at the wrinkled face of the person wielding the scalpel.
“Yes?” he responds, and his assistants fall into a befuddled silence.

Jan. 21st, 2011

cookie, dragon

Writer's Block: Universally speaking

If you could have a conversation with any animal in the world, living or dead (such as a childhood pet), which animal would you choose?

A dolphin, definitely. It could be just any dolphin, but it would be nice to talk to a smart one that was raised in the wild. I'd ask them about dolphin society, try to compare/contrast human/dolphin sense of morality, and see if they are cognizant of any affects humans have had on them.

Yep, I'd totally forgo talking to a pet for science.

Jan. 20th, 2011

cookie, dragon

amanda palmer is amazing

 In case you haven't heard, Amanda Palmer sings punk cabaret. If you haven't, youtube her. Now. Especially if you like music with an attitude and meaningful lyrics. You should also check out the Dresden Dolls, the band she sings with now and then (they split, then got back together).

As if that weren't enough, she just got married to Niel Gaiman. The author who wrote lots of awesome fantasy/british humor/horror novels and short stories such as Stardust, American Gods, and (my personal favorite) Neverwhere. I started reading his books around when I started listening to the Dresden Dolls, back in high school. It seemed like too much ingenious brilliance for one marriage, but several sources confirmed their (highly spontaneous) union (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amanda_Palmer for that info and more).

So after checking that out, I realized I hadn't seen many of her videos lately because I preferred how she sounded with the Dresden Dolls because their piano accompaniment compliments her dynamic volume and tone perfectly, so I searched on youtube...and burst into laughter over this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3B8omCWBl8s. By "cracked up," I mean broke out into a giggly fit halfway between a childish feeling of "teehee private parts teeheee," and sheer joy at the fact that she managed to broach such a taboo feminist topic so flamboyantly. For the record, I support feminism but don't consider myself a "Feminist" with a capital "F".

So, moral of this story? Brilliantly creative minds have a way of finding each other, and willingness to be an agent of change for the downtrodden is just another sign of genius.

Nov. 16th, 2010

cookie, dragon

Writer's Block: Cause or symptom?

Do you believe that violence in media promotes violence in real life? Does media reflect cultural values or can it actively reshape them?

 It's a positive feedback - a vicious cycle. It's our job to create negative feedbacks like law enforcement and awareness campaigns to relieve the problem and symptoms.

Nov. 11th, 2010

cookie, dragon

Dare to face the lightning

the insides of my eyelids
have a warm, rosy glow...

(as I try to ignore the
task list tattooed inside there)

...and the veins go
criss cross, criss cross
one track each

only have to carry oxygen
lungs to heart to brain
and back

Taking deep, even breaths...

(eyes glued shut against the world)

...I sleepwalk oblivious

         but feel the wilted, oozing threads of trampled grass
         but smell the rotting stench of crumbling foundations
         but taste the tang of fear and blood and hollow conquest

and hear
the quiet whisper
        of clothes brushing against miles of walls
        of breathing against millions of masks

only seldom, seldom

(much to my chagrin, confusion, joy)

do sobs and shouts
resonate and shatter glazed clay visages
into scraping shards
that ring and ping and bounce

do sibilant songs
melt masks like butter in sunshine
and  d


                                      to                 lips
                                           t o u c h

then do eyes meet
with the force of lightning
the rush of adrenaline and euphoria
the power to change the world


Are all
Human. Together.

Oct. 31st, 2010

cookie, dragon

To Dream in Midnight -excerpt

Author's Note: this is a dream from a much longer story that I wrote. It doesn't stand completely on its own, but I hope you can enjoy it. I put a haiku in front that was inspired by writing the story.


thirsty little roots
hold obsidian sand in
violet embrace

The sunrise is beautiful, but there is nobody to share it with. Unable to watch, you turn towards the cave. You sense living breaths inside. You light your candle and enter. Right hand on smooth, black wall—guide yourself. The candle shows jagged rocks, but the dark swallows it in two feet. You intermittently squeeze through narrow spots, often duck, sometimes crawl.

The passage grows cold. You realize your candle should be going out soon. You look at it. It is gone. Instead a flame flickers at the tip of your thumb, which is now purple, fading to blue at the joint. Its light bounces of the walls in hundreds of tiny sparks that belie the smooth surfaces. You walk like a candle floating down a star-struck river.

Your breaths become shorter, but you quicken your pace, and the walls scrape occasionally. The air turns sour. You feel something close. You feel its need.

An acrid wind slices your eyes, your throat, your lungs. You stumble forward, and you glimpse a pair of violently violet ovals with black slits, just barely within arm’s reach. Another noxious breeze extinguishes your little flame. Dropping to your knees, you reach forwards carefully, and lay your hand tenderly on scales. You close your stinging eyes and reach out with your mind.

The cave becomes clearly visible. Nothing is so perfectly black as it was before, yet there is no source of light. Glistening walls surround you, illuminated in varying shades of dark grays, blues and purples—the shades of midnight. You try to move, but you can’t. You are large—too large—yet accustomed to this small space. The dark is familiar. The dark feels good.

Suddenly, something glows and flickers with beautiful, alien brilliance, and the darkness will never be enough again.

You open your eyes.

Your hand is glowing. It rests on a dragon’s head protruding from a hole of obsidian. You lock eyes, and you know you and she are both trapped. She will never see light. You hear a faint rumble and try to breathe, but are paralyzed, your lungs failing.

You think of the sunrise, of the turquoise, buttercup, and rust. You stroke her only upwards, avoiding the sharp obsidian tips of her deep amethyst scales. Then you collapse against her forehead. She rumbles a tremulous, corrosive roar that shakes the tunnel and burns your body. The walls crack and shower you with shards. Then a forceful but gentle pull upwards. Something soft, an embrace.

Suddenly you are able to open your eyes and breathe. Spread out beneath you is a broad back filled with scales that shine with every shade of midnight. Together you soar into the sunrise.

Oct. 7th, 2010

cookie, dragon

Writer's Block: She's a brainiac on the floor

Would you rather be super-rich or super-smart if you would only be average in the other category?

SMART - it's a no-brainer, when money can't buy you love or happiness

Oct. 6th, 2010

cookie, dragon

Writer's Block: Open book test

Based on the books on your bookshelf, what conclusions would people draw about you?

Let's see...lots of fantasy and British humor with sections of environmental nonfiction and huge science textbooks means....that I'm a fanciful, tree-hugging nerd, with an odd sense of humor.

Sep. 28th, 2010

cookie, dragon

Writer's Block: Love stinks

Which song would you pick to describe your romantic life, and why?

Either Mr. Sandman, Somebody to Love or I'm a Single Lady (put a ring on it)....because, well, I've been single for a very long time. I also really like Drumming Song by Florence and the Machine, but it no longer applies to me at the moment.

Jun. 18th, 2010

cookie, dragon

back from the dead

Hello anyone who happens to be reading this (I have no idea why you would, but if you are, thank you). I haven't have any life-shattering experiences to make me post, just found some cool stuff on the internet that I felt like sharing for absolutely no reason whatsoever:

Control gravity    http://nuve.com.br/

My favorite food turned into an eco-campaign: http://www.pbjcampaign.org/ (a bit of an oversimplification, but I do love PB&J and the environment)

Yeah Google, don't let the iPad have it all! http://www.pcworld.com/businesscenter/article/188404/chrome_aims_to_steal_some_ipad_thunder.html

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