Yasashii Yoake
I've spent an hour staring at this page. I've cut all my previous ideas (dialogues, poems, etc) and pasted them away. I have modified this entry's time, pushing back the birth of my creativity. But regardless of my efforts, I am not satisfied. I recall previous nights when I could write with an ease any number of oddities and simplicities, prose and puns, tall-tales and shorts. But now... I cannot find my voice.
Could it be that it was never really any good?
Perhaps it's writer's block. Perhaps happy thoughts don't last forever. Perhaps I need more pixie dust. In this one fact I find solace: Tomorrow I will give her thanks for being there. For now, I'll be damned and post what I previously withheld!
Ducky was a simple boy with likes and dislikes similar to many boys his age. Among his dislikes were things like eating liver and onions, putting the toilet seat down after peeing and, most especially, washing the dishes. As it happened, it was his turn to wash the dishes on this particular day according to the whiteboard. Unfortunately for the whiteboard, Ducky only had one thing on his mind: Gyros of the Old World, which he sneaked out before breakfast to play. GotOW (as it was known among the schoolyards) was a Pinball RPG that required no skill to play and mindless devotion (which happened to be the two things Ducky excelled at). The only details Ducky had about the game came from the print on the side of the pinball-machine which read: Welcome to Ancient Greece.Ducky extrapolated the rest from the gameboard. The player represented a top-chef from Naples sent to thwart the invading Norse by throwing giant, metal sandwiches through the Roman passes between the Alps. Unfortunately, there is no real end to the game, but years later, in his autobiography, Ducky (by then known as Dr. Montgomery S. Dover) would write that "... And eventually you complete the game, only to realize years later that you spent thousands of quarters, and thereby, hundreds of dollars to push two buttons, whereby you would watch a metal ball smack against some sensors that shone silly lights, and made silly sounds." What Dr. Montgomery S. Dover, didn't mention in his autobiography was that on the day Ducky earned Top Score on GotOW at his local Bowl-a-rama, his Mother came home and stabbed the cat. Don't worry, the cat lived, but Ducky never found out why Mr. Buckles used an eyepatch from there on out.
It was halloween, and the sky seemed darker than normal to most, particularly the parents. The new moon had arrived a few days early, leaving an empty void in the sky. In a small, Californian suburb, four unlikely companions marched along a cracked and weather-worn pavement, enjoying the night air. The Ape, the Princess, the Plumber and the Dinosaur passed beside the costumed-beggars like they were vagrants. With haste, the four shifted between patches of dark and not-so-dark, humming a deep and hideous sound, few these days would understand. But this is what they said:
"Why would anyone choose to haunt a house?" asked the Ape.
"The agency says we're not supposed to use the word haunt to describe ethereal-binding to geolocations," interjected the Princess.
The Dinosaur frowned. "Change the record, already."
"Do you realize how many souls are trapped within cemetery gates," ask the Ape rhetorically.
"I'm telling you it's a conspiracy," added the Plumber.
"Please, not again," said the Dinosaur, in a low voice.
"Think about it. You see a light one second, then," The Plumber slammed his fists into his open palm. " Bam! Next thing you know, some voice asks you what sounds like a riddle. You choose spaghetti and whoosh! You're stuck on some spot for eternity."
Just then, the Princess raised her hand over her nose, and pretended to sneeze. Everyone stopped, but before they could says gesundheit, the Princess added, "My Aunt Margaret thinks it has to do with nostalgia."
No one said a word.
It took the trickortreaters fifteen minutes to reach the cemetery and another ten minutes to find the entrance. They crossed the tarnished iron threshold along the southwest wall and headed east toward an abandoned mausoleum. In the absence of moonlight, the grass looked gray, and trees cast long, emaciated shadows. Eventually the night became silent, not a cricket chriped, nor an owl hooted, nor a leaf stirred. Minutes later, the trickortreaters were by a lake and on the north-side of the lake there stood an altar. It was Christian through attrition, pagan by design and a means for contacting those beyond this world, according to very old and secret rite.
The trickortreaters were quickly set to work, lighting candles and incense. With the preparations in order, the Princess walked behind the altar and laid on it a book. The others sat before her with joined hands. The Princess raised her hands toward the naked sky and lead the incantation, saying:
Souls forgotten,
Souls despaired,
Souls made restless,
Repair,
Prepare.
I grant you voice,
Speak and say,
Answer me without delay!
I've spent an hour staring at this page, and I have "cut and paste" all the previous ideas, dialogues, poems that I would have posted. I have modified the time, but no matter what I write, I am not satisfied. I remember nights passed and I would write, oddities and simplicities, prose and cons, tales tall and short, but now I can't read my words like I used to: Could be they were never really any good. Perhaps this is a block of writing. Perhaps happy thoughts can't be held onto forever. I will say this, I have a confort. Tomorrow I will tell her thanks for being their. For now, I am going to "cut and paste" a previous writ that I wrote and be done with today.
Okay, I have found two compositions that I will submit here for someone's approval:
Firstly, an introduction for a boy lost:
Ducky didn't do the dishes that morning, he played an old game: Gyros of the Old World, a pingball RPG that requires no skill and hopeless devotion. Your Gyro, a sphere shaped sandwich, is chosen to embark on a mission for king and country. Most of the time is spent restarting, but that is were the real fun begins. Eventually you complete the game and forget most of the important details and replace them with silly ideas because the game is really boring. Ducky, being dumb, decided to play PacMan (since he didn't own Gyros of the Somewhere). Mother came home and stabbed Ducky's cat. She was bitter that Ducky's dad kept comparing them both in bed.
And Seconded, trickortreaters ala Ouiji:
The sky was mistakeably white or fashionably black, in either case, the sky was dressed in its traditional evening gown. Four people laughed as most people dont when they are sad. The night was pleasantly cold. In unison the four friends strolled the broken pavement of their local neighborhood. Unnatural orange lights were imprisoned atop metal postsalong the path the four familiar strangers walked. There were others around, most of them willingly disregarded by the ape, the princess, the plumber and the monster. Spectars and ghouls, heroes and villians even unlikely professionals wandered in a glutenous pursuit. Slowly they shuffled between patches of dark and not dark with hums and murmurs like voodoo chants, not really stalking, rather, selectively ciesing all opportunities for acquisition. And In halloweened tradition, the ape, the princess, the plumber and the monster, having more interest in cabbage stomping than candy,and like many corpses do, would gather at the local cemetery. Trot, skip, step and stomp, the four friends cross roads and talked besides the homes, below the trees, looking not at all themselves.
"Ever wonder why ghosts haunt homes?" asked the ape.
"I suppose they do for nostalgia's sake," proposed the princess.
"You think they would get a clue and stick around cemeteries more often, then they wouldn't be lonely," supposed the ape.
"Eh, maybe they want to use the bathroom," the plumber suggested.
"Ghosts don't need to use the bathroom," refuted the monster.
"Then perhaps they are sleep-walking?" suggested the plumber.
"That's just silly," commented the ape. "Ghosts can't sleep walk."
"Why so?" asked the plumber. "Death is considered the 'eternal slumber', isn't it?"
"He's got'cha there," interjected the princess.
"Monster, add that to the list of questions for this evening," instructed the ape.
"Why dont you add it, monkey?" questioned the monster.
"I do not have an opposable thumb," informed the ape. "Besides, you have the pad of paper."
"Right," agreed the monster, who pulled out the pad of paper and noted the request.
Shortly there after the four trickortreaters climbed a wall and influtrated the cemetery as discussed before we met them. Even in the moon's forgetful stare the hilly landscape resembled a golf course, save for the stone markers. Willows wept, cedars sat and pines pined, as trees do on evenings in the gardens of peace-filled resters. Not a sound was heard as the four crossed the blue-lit lawn. By the lake, near the center of the garden, there stood an open-air altar; Christian in design, pagan by standards and unemployed at the moment, the four entered its confines and staged all the necessities for contacting those once of this world. Candles set and lit, flickered in a dance; incense burned or so the smoke would make it seem.
The princess stood behind the altar and laid on that altar a book as her companions sat before her, staring like a puppy when it tries to learn its name.
"Souls forgotten,
Souls dispaired,
Souls made restless,
Repair,
Prepare.
I grant you voice
Speak and say
Answer our questions without delay!" the princess chanted.
Without delay, the candle headdresses stretched against gravity and a voice not belonging to anyone present, eminated from the circle formed by the candles on the altar.
"Ask your questions!"
In the FIN, I feel better.
Could it be that it was never really any good?
Perhaps it's writer's block. Perhaps happy thoughts don't last forever. Perhaps I need more pixie dust. In this one fact I find solace: Tomorrow I will give her thanks for being there. For now, I'll be damned and post what I previously withheld!
Ducky was a simple boy with likes and dislikes similar to many boys his age. Among his dislikes were things like eating liver and onions, putting the toilet seat down after peeing and, most especially, washing the dishes. As it happened, it was his turn to wash the dishes on this particular day according to the whiteboard. Unfortunately for the whiteboard, Ducky only had one thing on his mind: Gyros of the Old World, which he sneaked out before breakfast to play. GotOW (as it was known among the schoolyards) was a Pinball RPG that required no skill to play and mindless devotion (which happened to be the two things Ducky excelled at). The only details Ducky had about the game came from the print on the side of the pinball-machine which read: Welcome to Ancient Greece.Ducky extrapolated the rest from the gameboard. The player represented a top-chef from Naples sent to thwart the invading Norse by throwing giant, metal sandwiches through the Roman passes between the Alps. Unfortunately, there is no real end to the game, but years later, in his autobiography, Ducky (by then known as Dr. Montgomery S. Dover) would write that "... And eventually you complete the game, only to realize years later that you spent thousands of quarters, and thereby, hundreds of dollars to push two buttons, whereby you would watch a metal ball smack against some sensors that shone silly lights, and made silly sounds." What Dr. Montgomery S. Dover, didn't mention in his autobiography was that on the day Ducky earned Top Score on GotOW at his local Bowl-a-rama, his Mother came home and stabbed the cat. Don't worry, the cat lived, but Ducky never found out why Mr. Buckles used an eyepatch from there on out.
It was halloween, and the sky seemed darker than normal to most, particularly the parents. The new moon had arrived a few days early, leaving an empty void in the sky. In a small, Californian suburb, four unlikely companions marched along a cracked and weather-worn pavement, enjoying the night air. The Ape, the Princess, the Plumber and the Dinosaur passed beside the costumed-beggars like they were vagrants. With haste, the four shifted between patches of dark and not-so-dark, humming a deep and hideous sound, few these days would understand. But this is what they said:
"Why would anyone choose to haunt a house?" asked the Ape.
"The agency says we're not supposed to use the word haunt to describe ethereal-binding to geolocations," interjected the Princess.
The Dinosaur frowned. "Change the record, already."
"Do you realize how many souls are trapped within cemetery gates," ask the Ape rhetorically.
"I'm telling you it's a conspiracy," added the Plumber.
"Please, not again," said the Dinosaur, in a low voice.
"Think about it. You see a light one second, then," The Plumber slammed his fists into his open palm. " Bam! Next thing you know, some voice asks you what sounds like a riddle. You choose spaghetti and whoosh! You're stuck on some spot for eternity."
Just then, the Princess raised her hand over her nose, and pretended to sneeze. Everyone stopped, but before they could says gesundheit, the Princess added, "My Aunt Margaret thinks it has to do with nostalgia."
No one said a word.
It took the trickortreaters fifteen minutes to reach the cemetery and another ten minutes to find the entrance. They crossed the tarnished iron threshold along the southwest wall and headed east toward an abandoned mausoleum. In the absence of moonlight, the grass looked gray, and trees cast long, emaciated shadows. Eventually the night became silent, not a cricket chriped, nor an owl hooted, nor a leaf stirred. Minutes later, the trickortreaters were by a lake and on the north-side of the lake there stood an altar. It was Christian through attrition, pagan by design and a means for contacting those beyond this world, according to very old and secret rite.
The trickortreaters were quickly set to work, lighting candles and incense. With the preparations in order, the Princess walked behind the altar and laid on it a book. The others sat before her with joined hands. The Princess raised her hands toward the naked sky and lead the incantation, saying:
Souls forgotten,
Souls despaired,
Souls made restless,
Repair,
Prepare.
I grant you voice,
Speak and say,
Answer me without delay!
I've spent an hour staring at this page, and I have "cut and paste" all the previous ideas, dialogues, poems that I would have posted. I have modified the time, but no matter what I write, I am not satisfied. I remember nights passed and I would write, oddities and simplicities, prose and cons, tales tall and short, but now I can't read my words like I used to: Could be they were never really any good. Perhaps this is a block of writing. Perhaps happy thoughts can't be held onto forever. I will say this, I have a confort. Tomorrow I will tell her thanks for being their. For now, I am going to "cut and paste" a previous writ that I wrote and be done with today.
Okay, I have found two compositions that I will submit here for someone's approval:
Firstly, an introduction for a boy lost:
Ducky didn't do the dishes that morning, he played an old game: Gyros of the Old World, a pingball RPG that requires no skill and hopeless devotion. Your Gyro, a sphere shaped sandwich, is chosen to embark on a mission for king and country. Most of the time is spent restarting, but that is were the real fun begins. Eventually you complete the game and forget most of the important details and replace them with silly ideas because the game is really boring. Ducky, being dumb, decided to play PacMan (since he didn't own Gyros of the Somewhere). Mother came home and stabbed Ducky's cat. She was bitter that Ducky's dad kept comparing them both in bed.
And Seconded, trickortreaters ala Ouiji:
The sky was mistakeably white or fashionably black, in either case, the sky was dressed in its traditional evening gown. Four people laughed as most people dont when they are sad. The night was pleasantly cold. In unison the four friends strolled the broken pavement of their local neighborhood. Unnatural orange lights were imprisoned atop metal postsalong the path the four familiar strangers walked. There were others around, most of them willingly disregarded by the ape, the princess, the plumber and the monster. Spectars and ghouls, heroes and villians even unlikely professionals wandered in a glutenous pursuit. Slowly they shuffled between patches of dark and not dark with hums and murmurs like voodoo chants, not really stalking, rather, selectively ciesing all opportunities for acquisition. And In halloweened tradition, the ape, the princess, the plumber and the monster, having more interest in cabbage stomping than candy,and like many corpses do, would gather at the local cemetery. Trot, skip, step and stomp, the four friends cross roads and talked besides the homes, below the trees, looking not at all themselves.
"Ever wonder why ghosts haunt homes?" asked the ape.
"I suppose they do for nostalgia's sake," proposed the princess.
"You think they would get a clue and stick around cemeteries more often, then they wouldn't be lonely," supposed the ape.
"Eh, maybe they want to use the bathroom," the plumber suggested.
"Ghosts don't need to use the bathroom," refuted the monster.
"Then perhaps they are sleep-walking?" suggested the plumber.
"That's just silly," commented the ape. "Ghosts can't sleep walk."
"Why so?" asked the plumber. "Death is considered the 'eternal slumber', isn't it?"
"He's got'cha there," interjected the princess.
"Monster, add that to the list of questions for this evening," instructed the ape.
"Why dont you add it, monkey?" questioned the monster.
"I do not have an opposable thumb," informed the ape. "Besides, you have the pad of paper."
"Right," agreed the monster, who pulled out the pad of paper and noted the request.
Shortly there after the four trickortreaters climbed a wall and influtrated the cemetery as discussed before we met them. Even in the moon's forgetful stare the hilly landscape resembled a golf course, save for the stone markers. Willows wept, cedars sat and pines pined, as trees do on evenings in the gardens of peace-filled resters. Not a sound was heard as the four crossed the blue-lit lawn. By the lake, near the center of the garden, there stood an open-air altar; Christian in design, pagan by standards and unemployed at the moment, the four entered its confines and staged all the necessities for contacting those once of this world. Candles set and lit, flickered in a dance; incense burned or so the smoke would make it seem.
The princess stood behind the altar and laid on that altar a book as her companions sat before her, staring like a puppy when it tries to learn its name.
"Souls forgotten,
Souls dispaired,
Souls made restless,
Repair,
Prepare.
I grant you voice
Speak and say
Answer our questions without delay!" the princess chanted.
Without delay, the candle headdresses stretched against gravity and a voice not belonging to anyone present, eminated from the circle formed by the candles on the altar.
"Ask your questions!"
In the FIN, I feel better.