Lucky Charms And Such

I woke this morning to two hours of sleep and a strong desire for water. Aside from that, Cthulu was well honored and another solid week comes to a close.

I apologize for not writing a poem to commemorate the occasion of "Thursday" but I have to admit that I just wasn't feeling up to it. It may have been the gin or, more likely, the general malaise that has been slowly gripping me recently. I've been writing outlines of shit instead of writing it, and that may become a problem.

As it is the end of the week I suppose I should tie up some loose ends. Instead I sit amongst the strings and wonder just one thing: What the fuck happened to Ben last night?

The Parlance Of Our Times

I finally made it back to Fort Wayne for an extended period of time, and just at the ready for another Thursday to be upon us. How lucky.

I've been doing a lot of writing recently in the hopes of improving enough to make a living off of this shit. I'm more than fairly confident in my ability to suck at this sport, but I practice anyway. Not to mention that the Ball State career center had some interesting books on careers that involve a creative writing major. I will give you a taste of what it said when I looked at novelist.

NOVELIST: Higher than Author and Freelancer.
Salary: $0 to Millions of Dollars.

TIP FOR BREAKING IN TO THE FIELD: Write a manuscript that everyone raves about and sell it to the publisher.

I don't know why I didn't think about this sort of thing sooner. I mean, most of my business plans for becoming a full time writer looked something like: Write+Edit+Pray+Hope+HOLYFUCKINGSELLTOPUBLISHER+FAIL+FAIL+FAIL+FAIL+FAIL= Profit. Their take on the situation, however, made me feel thousands of times better: Write=Profit. I'm going to have to spend more time their to boost my ego some.

In other news Aaron has once again given glance to his project, something you can find in the links to the right. Leave him a comment or five so that he keeps writing on a regular basis. The new post is a bit on the lengthy side but he has been witholding it for some time so it makes sense.

Keep lively, brothers. Tomorrow approaches and with it, if you are good to your hearts, another shitty poem about a tentacled monster may follow.

Frontiering The Shit Out Of You

So I've picked up a new game recently called EVE Online and while it isn't technically new at three years old, it is new to me. At this juncture I'm finding it to be one of the most satisfying MMO's I've played in a long time because of what it allows me to do, namely piracy. Unlike wow all of your skills are learned in real time which means that before you go to bed or to lunch or to work or to whatever it is you go to you can start training a skill, log out and then come back (depending on the time required to learn the skill) with an upgraded or new ability. So much better than grinding hours and hours on worthless mobs and it allows me to get on, start training something and then log and do something else with my life.

AS far as the piracy thing goes what really sold me was the ability to engage in fleet wars and, the best part, ultimatums. One of the pirate strategies that I found online suggested that I create a long range fighter, use it to attack expensive but weaker vessels until their health is down to 10% and then open a communication channel with that player. So long as they accept I can demand that they pay me 50% of their ship and cargo's value lest I unload my twin missile pods and my twin rail cannons on their crippled vessel. Oh, and I can also board them. Fucking cool.

Aside from these things my other great joy is that the game is centered around money instead of experience. If you have the money to buy an "end game" vessel then you can do so regardless of experience points. You only need a few required skills that take a couple days to learn in order to secure one of the big rigs and (I'm almost 100% on this) you could have a ship completely trained in a month or two. Much shorter grind I think.

I'll leave this here then. I've got to get back to preping my Merlin class frigate for bounty hunting.

Cthulu Comes

Each week it comes to good boys and girls,
who are locked away safe in their bedclothes and curls.

From the deepest of parts of the blackened abyss
To fill cups full of beer and pots full of piss.

With one sallow eye it peeks from the murk, and
harkens to all with its heartrending smirk.

"Come to the dance," it says, "And pray tell what I say,
Today is the day where I have my way.
Let the beer flow like wine and the liquor stay sweet,
let the women dance and the men find their seat,
and to all let them come and witness my feat,
For Cthulu Cthursday, My Thursday!, we meet.

Coffee Is The Price Of Greatness

Steven idly licked the tip of his pen and set it on the page. Although he wasn't necessarily certain why he'd licked it, the oily metal taste that lingered on his tongue invigorated him to begin his life's work. The door to his room was closed, the window open and his music was on playing an old Sinatra number that he couldn't remember the name of. A warm spring breeze brought in the morning moisture to settle on his curtains and comforter. He wrote:

Lighthouse
Chapter One:

Merciless

Jenny is an ungrateful slut who enjoys the pleasures of other men. I abhor the fact that she exists, and I will see to it that she no longer ever does.

Steven sipped from a black coffee mug with

World Writers Association

stamped in gold letters on the rim and gave a satisfied sigh.

"I think that is enough for today," He said, dropping his pen onto the notepad with a plop, "greatness cannot be forced."

Rantings

James tucked the revolver back into his pocket and smiled, "You're more lucky than you think, Vince. Luckier than your brother was anyway."

"You were always a cunt James, I just never had the chance to tell you properly," Vincent said and leaned against the brick pharmacy wall.

"Maybe you should have used more bullets to articulate your point," He replied, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

James looked up the street at the pouring rain and listened to it hiss as it hit the hot street lamp glass. The night was always a fascination for him, especially when the sky was trying to drown the ground below. No matter where he was in Sanatine he could always smell the ocean on the breeze.

"You always take so much for granted," He said and tossed Vincent a little package of dirty cloth wrapped in a bright blue ribbon. Vincent made no move to catch it, merely watching the circular object hit the wall next to his head and then roll around on the concrete at his feet. James laughed.

"Open that at your leisure, brother, and don't forget to call our father next week. It's his birthday," He said and made his way back up the street to disappear into the rain.
Vincent watched him the whole way before stooping to pick up the dirty gift wrapped item.
"I'll use the whole clip next time, brother," Vincent said and left in the opposite direction.

Get It On

I have been having a terrible time trying to stay focused on any one thing in particular. It seems like every time I start to write I'm either interrupted and have to try again later or just cannot find the words. I think I've started four projects and some two or three over again. I'm not happy about that and I'm starting to see a trend. You cannot sell what you did not write, mates, and I need to have something to sell.

I am not sure why I'm so sold on trying to publish as soon as possible. I suppose it is because I feel it might legitimize my abilities in a familial atmosphere that believes if the degree doesn't get you a nine to five you are doing it wrong. I get embarrassed every time there is some sort of holiday get together and I have to sit with my engineer or teacher or business owning cousins who all work for steady pay and are showing some sort of promising future. The conversation always seems to turn to me and why I probably am wasting my life with words. I think that is enough of the cock loving emo bullshit for one day.