I love the word Saracen. I want to create something involving Saracen. Is that the correct plural form? I don't care. The banner-commander of the detachment of Saracen watched, squinting, at the shapes forming on the horizon. Slowly, he recognized a mast delicately periscoping over the lowest dunes. A skiff! He grabbed his spear.
Saracen indeed.
Glib Jar
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
No Title
The ground is ripped and my uniform torn
The officer dead and the drummer-boy gone
The silent shout of those who died
Mingled with the wounded's cries
And still in the distance the bugler calls
From across the field till the last hero falls.
The officer dead and the drummer-boy gone
The silent shout of those who died
Mingled with the wounded's cries
And still in the distance the bugler calls
From across the field till the last hero falls.
Tactful Tip of the Day
When someone says that something has or will happen to someone, they are talking about you.
"Someone smells bad."
"Someone smells bad."
Monday, May 9, 2011
Tactful Tip of the Day
This is a guide on how to insult somebody without them knowing until around 6-8 minutes after. By then hopefully a large obstructive object, such as Canada, will be between you and the offended party.
Actually fuck it let's make this a guide to identify when such a clever ruse is being employed against you.
When someone says straightforward, they mean simple or stupid.
"Morgan, your poem is a bit straightforward."
Actually fuck it let's make this a guide to identify when such a clever ruse is being employed against you.
When someone says straightforward, they mean simple or stupid.
"Morgan, your poem is a bit straightforward."
An Epoch Poem
I
I am a man of the railway yards
And the gentle heartbeat of the subway cars
That move to the rhythm of the near and far
And end up in graves in the railway yards
And the signs in the sun of the railway yards
Reflecting off the cold, hungry cars
And the echoes of the hunger hitching near and far
On the gentle rhythm of the railway yards
And the gentle heartbeat of the subway cars
That move to the rhythm of the near and far
And end up in graves in the railway yards
And the signs in the sun of the railway yards
Reflecting off the cold, hungry cars
And the echoes of the hunger hitching near and far
On the gentle rhythm of the railway yards
II
I am a man of the dust and the rain
And the hallowed ruins of my family name
From the pallid grey waste where the fire came
And turned the water to dust and the sky to rain
And the hallowed ruins of my family name
From the pallid grey waste where the fire came
And turned the water to dust and the sky to rain
III
I am a man from a sacred land
Ravaged by famine of tribes and clans
I have my boots and I have a plan
And my Freudian wall to keep my face from the sand
And in the arid flats of the tainted land
Made clement by wealth and tribes and clans
The ground, parched and cracked where I stand
Is painting a symphony with dust and sand
Ravaged by famine of tribes and clans
I have my boots and I have a plan
And my Freudian wall to keep my face from the sand
And in the arid flats of the tainted land
Made clement by wealth and tribes and clans
The ground, parched and cracked where I stand
Is painting a symphony with dust and sand
IV
Before the fire came
The sun shines through the clearing clouds
Rays of light permeate with heavenly sounds
The birds fly above as the drums hum below
The trill of a bluejay; the thrum of a crow
Rays of light permeate with heavenly sounds
The birds fly above as the drums hum below
The trill of a bluejay; the thrum of a crow
Before the fire came
And turned the ashes to dust and the
Dust to tears
Dust to tears
V
I am a man of the shimmering road
The burning flats and their cracked abode
The crunch of rubber and tar and clay
The cradle of the sun at high midday
The burning flats and their cracked abode
The crunch of rubber and tar and clay
The cradle of the sun at high midday
VI
The empty bag clumps to the ground
The compass rusted and turned all round
The food long gone and the water spare
The compass rusted and turned all round
The food long gone and the water spare
Time is my why, the wind is my where
I am a man of this infinite path
I once was a man of the railway yards
I am a man of this infinite path
I once was a man of the railway yards
And my gentle heartbeat begins to mend the scars
Of the land once ravaged by brimstone and wrath
I am a man of the railway yard
And always a traveller of this infinite path.
Of the land once ravaged by brimstone and wrath
I am a man of the railway yard
And always a traveller of this infinite path.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Top Ten: Moments in Call of Duty (7)
NUMBER 7:
The Reichstag: WaW
Nothing can compare. This level was fucking awesome.
The Reichstag: WaW
Nothing can compare. This level was fucking awesome.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Blog Post
I have a special note I always keep in my wallet. It is in case I ever become the victim of a terrible accident. It says "It's been fun. I'll miss you all." Its purpose is to make said accident look like a suicide so more people will remember my death, were it to occur. Today I noticed that the little slip of paper with the note on it was gone. I didn't care. I am invincible.
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