Front Porch Rambles

He heard a guttural grunt from the darkness, not twenty feet to his right. The small, bright beam of light cut through the midnight forest, but illuminated nothing. Still, he could be fairly certain he was not alone on the island. The grunting noise, like a coarse huff of air, had been following him for the last 30 minutes. He didn't want to imagine what it could be. There was almost no noise beyond the infernal buzzing of the mosquitoes and the dull plodding of his steps on the soft earth. The dull roar of the high water was there always in the background, but all that could be heard of civiiization was the distant echo of a train passing through Ecklesville ten miles south. The faint whine of the bloodsucking swarm turned to a roar suddenly as one of the pests made a mad dive for his ear canal. The flashlight swung wildly in his hand, and the shadows of the trees danced crazily. The sudden effect of movement all around made him freeze in place, and he wondered how foolish he look

General Arcturus Bracken climbed the last stair, and stood at the great table. He was a large man, and his armor made him seem like a living statue, stoic and gleaming under a clear violet sky. There were long ribbons, scraps of old banners, tied to his pack, and they danced in the neverending wind found in high places. Arcturus reluctantly drags his gaze away from the table, a massive ring of bright quartz carved from the very mountaintop on which he stood. Below him some 200 or more steps was his squire, who had made it quite clear that his sire should go on without him. He appeared to be resting on the stone stairs, beseeching the ancient ones for the strength to go on. It didn’t matter. the young Steeg would play no part in what was to happen next. In truth, he had only allowed Steeg to persuade him at last when his protege had made a good point. “General Brackon, sir, I couldn’t bear to let your body lay up there with the rest of them. You owe it to the people to have a heroes

With a focused mind and a healthy heart I can do good work; Complete what I start.

Muk fiddled with the lockpicks tucked in the secret pocket of his shirtsleeve. To the finely dressed men and women strolling down high street he must have appeared another louse-ridden street urchin scratching at his infestation. He was seventeen, but he was small for his age as a result of poor nutrition throughout his childhood. His black hair was sleek with sweat under the ragged hood, he was nervous. He sat huddled on the dirty cobblestone at the edge of a long alleyway that he knew to have many exits and stared out at nothing. His dark eyes were cold and emotionless, like those of a veteran of a war campaign who has seen far more trauma than they’ll ever say. Muk could summon up a glare that would freeze wine, and invariably made people look away, as it was intended to. He didn’t want to get close to anyone, he didn’t want to make any friends. Never again. Elora. Without warning, he was twelve again, and with her. Muk could clearly see her smile lit by the breaking dawn

The Australian Shepherd Dog sniffed at the object. It was a small metal cylinder, no larger than a can of spray paint. There were bright green and black bars painted across the middle. It was humming ever so slightly. "I don't like it." Rufus was a plain statement of truth kind of guy. "The Duke thinks it's interesting." "Duke thinks sniffing his own turds is interesting." We sat in silence for a moment, facing each other. There was silence. Then it hit him. He pulled his t shirt up over his nose and clutched it tight, cursing. "Now, ain't that interesting?" It's the silent ones that's the deadliest. "

There was no silence after the battle. The storm of blood was over, but the distant boom of shells still rolled like distant thunder over the trampled field. Rifle shots from the receding conflict popped like twigs in a hungry fire, but here there were only dying embers.  Christina coughed as she passed through a drifting cloud of sulfurous smoke.  Her knee-high boots were covered with the slick red mud she had been trudging through for the last hour or so. The beautiful blue coat commissioned for her by Lawrence in Vienna was speckled and torn, one sleeve nearly in half from when she had fought her way through the barbed tangles at the front line. What was left of the front line. She was beginning to grow desperate, the bitter lump of fear trying to lurch up into her throat was becoming harder to force back down. The murmuring groans of the injured and dying weren't helping, and the occasional wail of some unseen soldier threatened to make her lose her poise. She screamed suddenly

I wanted to doodle in my universe, so here I am. I just checked out the notes I posted last, and realized I needed to do a little work on the setting. Here we go... ...in the beginning, there was a cluster of inhabited stars so close to one another that when they called out to the stars in search of life, someone answered. From there, the worlds worked together and eventually developed the technology to travel between star systems in a series of jumps involving technology on both ends of the connection. A long time later... interstellar civilization thrived, as the Council of Planets reached further into the cluster and discovered more alien life. The connections were constructed, the alliance welcomed new planets, and grew. There were those who sought unprecedented power and were thrown down, but cracks formed in the pillars of society. The Council became corrupt, and clandestine dealings became power grabs, and teetered on the verge of a massive, interplanetary war. Gene

One minute. I had to adjust the settings on my phone so I could type manually. The iPhone 8GT had legendary talk to text. Perhaps it was the pulsing radiation from the anomaly he had discovered.

Happy birthday is sung, mom sings may the dear lord bless you verse by herself. Newly 33 year old Jeremy blows out the candles, maybe there are 33 of them, a tame dad and brother prank. There are kids. Young kids and Jeremy is Daddy. Kelly as Mommy tries to run herd on them, but ultimately the boys do what they want. Meanwhile, someone has asked Jeremy what he wished for. He thinks 'I  wish I knew.' Title card Music trumpets heralding and mocking Narration I've never really fit in. Don't get me wrong, I've had plenty of friends in my life, and no trouble making them, but I do tend to like them weird, just like I like my coffee. I've fit in lots of places, but rarely stuck with any one thing for too long.  I'm what you might call a free spirit. I know what you're thinking, the mental image that's forming here... (visuals of Jeremy beginning his day, wife leaving for work before the sun is up, she kisses him, but he's really still asleep, toddler b

Sick and tired Immune system fired Feelin so bad  But gotta be dad Gotta stay on my feet Watch listen repeat Repeat repeat repeat My life is complete Now if I could just take A five minute break A snack you say? It's right on the way (If you say please And ate all of your veggies) Have some cheese No? How bout these? Try using English And not childese. There you have it Happy now? Take a bow  Exit quick To the room Listen for big booms By myself  Check the shelf Where's my lukewarm soda? Where's my Yoda To teach me the ways of the force Of course, I've got skills Force of will I will see all those teeth brushed No rush Take your time It's your stories we're losing, not mine Lay your heads  In your beds So I can hack up a lung It's fun Rest my sons Time is borrowed It's a big day tomorrow

I just started writing and this came out, I hadn't planned on going here yet. I kinda like it though, and it opened up the possibility to me of working scenes from the future to inform the writing in the present tense of the story, if that makes any sense. Either way, here's a glimpse of a possible future for one of the Outer Space Adventure Saga boys. I hope you like it. ------- The ravages of time were evident on the old weathered stones. The dull gray winter sky was echoed in the faded granite that jutted from the rippling field of blue grass. Wind whistled and moaned as it rushed past the ruined monument. Axar and Ziva stepped down lightly from their hovercraft. The rustling grass rose to their knees, tickling where it reached past their boots. It was a quiet place, and they hadn't spoken a word since they spotted it across the gently sloping grasslands.  Ziva reached the shattered pillar first, though neither of them was in any hurry. This was their honeymoon after all

Death of Snow-A Haiku Dripping dying snow Sounds an awful lot like rain Because it is rain

Tracy pushed open the door and stepped inside the dark office. The lights came on automatically, and turned on full. Charles. She grimaced against the false daylight and slammed her palm against the panel on the wall beside the door. The room was dark once more, only the last light of day crept through the blinds. The room was painted in red glow. Tracy was in no mood to appreciate the beauty of the moment. She was on a frustrating case, and it had been a most unproductive day.  She tossed her sling pack onto the floor and slumped into her worn leather chair. Some of its buttons were AWOL, and the leather was faded and cracked by sun and age. She told clients that it had been her father's if they lifted an eyebrow, but the truth was she'd had the chair since she rescued it from the curb when she was sixteen years old, and it had never left her side.  She pulled out her iDesk and unfolded it. It neatly covered the desk calendar she kept meaning to use. She palmed the screen, and

The continuous roar of the wind through the trees was only muffled by her heavy coat, not silenced. The sheer inescapable noise of it threatened to drive her insane. Even if she could sing now, if her lips weren't cracked and frozen, the howling storm would have buried her song in snow. She didn't know how to go on, but she knew that she must. That old animal instinct was all that was left of her. Keep moving. Survive.  Some part of her wanted to curl up and die here, lost until spring. Let the animals feed their young through the harsh winter with her body. It would only be fair, after all.  She thought of her children. They were all grown to big for the cabin, and had moved out into the world. They'd all be able to say they'd tried. They'd tried to move her to the city, and they'd tried to stop her from her hunting expeditions. None of them expected to succeed though. They knew their mother. She couldn't feel her left arm. Her coat had been torn through in

E Yaji was born on a boat. Djanni, his mother, could not be stopped from her expeditions. Her mother begged her to stay still and rest, her father forbade her from leaving, and her husband tried to physically stop her. He got a black eye and a lashing of the tongue for his efforts, and still she went. The tiny tempest, the fisher-people of their tribe called her. She was a storm that followed her own course, and any who stood in her path were driftwood in a hurricane. Djinni stormed out of the camp and cast off in her canoe, alone. She knew a place where sweet berries grew, and it was only a few miles upriver. The little woman did not feel alone, for the sky was clear and the winter stars shone above her. Djinni was tired, and her anger had expired. She could always find peace in the constellations that had guided her people for centuries. When the contractions began, she could do nothing but let her canoe drift back towards home as she tried not to tip the vessel in the sudden feirce

I have been trying to finish a piece of abstract art for a while, for a friend but also as an experiment for myself.  I didn't have much in mind starting out, just thinking about a palette of colors and how to apply them to canvas. What I got was a bunch of colors on a canvas with an interesting texture that didn't do a lot for me on the whole. I tried a few times, painting over my previous work each time. The trial preceding this one was almost there, but lacked depth and was also very boring. I had fun adding the dark green splashes today, and I think I like it now.

I was attempting to use garage band to turn this into an actual song, but I'm not great at making beautiful music come out of a machine just yet. I prefer to tinker with a piano or harmonica, and most of all sing my improvisations. This one has a tune, but it needs some help, so it's not getting posted. Anyhow, I'm going to write the lyrics as they were when I sent it to my love. It's a cold and snowy day Whenever I'm away You keep my body warm Protect me from all harm The wind it blows, it bites It's a dark and lonely night Whenever I'm not with you My darlin' how I miss you How I long to say, "hey babe, I'm on the way" That time is now approaching The sun will be encroaching on the clouds

When I set out to create art, I usually follow my instincts when I decide what kind of art to create. By that I mean I consider various possibilities until I find one that doesn't disgust me.  Artists, you might know what I mean. Some nights the sketchbook is your best friend, other times you can't even stand to look at it. I was looking at the blog my brother and I used to do, called Fight the Nothing, and I was inspired to make a change here in my writing journal. I need two things, structure and diversity. I have always been principally a visual artist, and I would like to improve my skills on that field as well. Also, as I said above, sometimes I just don't want to write, at least not on the blog. Therefore, I will now be including visual art in my notebook, just as it has been in every class I've ever attended. I think I require some structure to create good art, or at least to start on the path towards it. I know myself to be somewhat defiant, and I love to twist

Hugo waited at the barricade. It was crowded, but he was at the front. He had a pass, she'd given it to him the day before out of the blue, but this was his first time at the Mars Rodeo, and he didn't feel like he belonged inside the ring without her. The Rock-Jocks walked around the teams-only area on full strut as the cameras flashed all around. Hugo wasn't like any of them, not like her. He'd kill himself if he tried to hold on to one of those rockets, and he wouldn't even break clouds when he did. The air was thick with rotten egg smoke. He watched the spectacle of the daredevils and their devotees.. He leaned on the poured stone barricade; he had been waiting a while. The paint on the stone was covered in cracks, the blue and white tessagrams chipped here and there by passersby into a beautiful mosaic ruin. He could hear her laugh then, above the roar of the day, and stood up straight. Pinna came around the trailers framed by two broad-shoulder jockeys in gre