The Makar's Tree

As you can now see in my userinfo, this journal is Friends Mostly. If you want to read the stuff I write and am paranoidly protecting against theives, or aliens, or something, then tell me. However, be aware that I reserve the right not to friend someone. Because I'm fickle like that. Or smart. Or bitchy. But it's my journal and therefore my perogative.

just suffering from another energy-suck; trying to take back a little from work and feed it into my life.

Richard Shindell's song "Gethsemani Goodbye" has started something, but it's not quite ready yet...

Chase Lounge - about the people who ran the dancing event. Not sure if the story's complete or it I should do a series of these nights at the Chaise Lounge and just make them chapters.

Thoughts?

They planted roses, side by side,
and each in turn her roses taught to dance,
the waltz the gliding quickstep or ballet
the roses, decked with raindrops, dazzled all.
but bickering about who first stepped out,
whose roses bloomed before, whose thorns scratched first,
they lost the tune to which their roses danced
and petals fell to earth as children's tears.
Now all is bramble and a scattered leaf
two voices, angry, echo in the wind.

This is the odd result of contemplating Tudor costume at the same time as reading too much Doctor Who.

( Interrupted )

I know I wrote up character profiles for my Citizens of Cardiff stories. But I can't find it anywhere now!

Bugger.

Need to come up with a name for the series of Torchwood fanfics exploring extra-normal life in Cardiff not relating (directly) to Torchwood.

The Other Cardiff? A Different Town? Parallell Roads? Citizens of Cardiff (given the line in Everything Changes, "Don't knock it, I'm a citizen") ?

Who out there would be willing to beta Torchwood and Doctor Who fic for me?

Thanks!

Three years and
whoknowshowmany miles later
and I still don't want to like you
I have rationalized
and discussed
debated your reason,
cursed and spat your name
but the one thing
I haven't done
is learn to like you again.
If I do that,
will your ghost let go
let me be free again?

they say that in order to really move on from something you have to let go of it, and I've been carrying this anger like a badge for maybe too long now. will forgiveness loosen the anger enough?

I have these stories, half-stories really, little episodes in the life of worlds, and I add on to them from time to time. But two, at the moment, are giving me a bit of trouble. I don't know where they're meant to go next. I do like where they've been, but they're giving me no clues as to an ending.

And then, of course, there are the stories which are complete but which I've only written a tenth of, or less. And some of what was unwritten has been forgotten.

Oh, bother.

posted this over at dw100. First (finished) Doctor Who fic...

Title: Unexpected
Characters: Could be any, but I was thinking of Rose and 9/10
Length: 100
Rating: G
No Spoilers
Challenge: 147 "Ice and Snow"


( Unexpected )

This is not "little cat feet", nor London's pea soup.
This is clouds resting the night on our streets,
waking late in the morning, confused,
and slowly, dreamily making their way
back into the sky.

You are stones in my pockets,
weighing me down as I walk into the river.
Dragging me deeper, telling me
it will be warm like the womb.
You are pulling me under,
but I can't decide whether
to empty my pockets of you,
and live, lonely,
or drown, listening
to my whispering stones.

In the Labrynthe
without my ball of string.
there is no minator here,
except of my own making
besies, they might know the way.
some direction is called for,
out or inward, either would be fine.
I cannot see over the walls,
and no Ariadne string to guide me.

They're beginning to take over! Ack! ;)

"You do have a house other than this, don't you?"
The Older Cousin looked mildly offended. "Of course." When her look requested more information, he provided her with the address.
"Oh, good," she said.
"Does it matter," asked the Younger Cousin, bemused.
"Of course!" she replied in a most cultured manner which contrasted with her downright scruffy appearance. "You don't think I would allow myself to be courted by anyone with a fashionable address, do you?"
The Older Cousin laughed out loud as the Younger sat there, clearly bewlidered by this turn of events.

Just a little something, tied to an old something and adapting it a bit.
( Read more... )

Boxes inside boxes,
people in the boxes
minds in the boxes
churning out good intentions
typing hope with every enter key.
but for every window that doesn't
catch the sunlight,
windows in my mind close close close
the poetry shrinking like violets in winter
daydreams folded and put away,
boxes gathering dust.
Offices are the winter of the mind.
Spring me!

Justification for a Trespass

I will walk through your private property parking lot,
because the people in the houses next to it might hear me,
if I needed to be heard.
I would walk only on the streets, take the longer path,
if the shops were still there;
the Mediterranean bakery, scenting the air with baklava,
the busy halal market, the catholic school uniform shop,
the chinese restaurant. They were full of people,
who would hear me if I called for help.
But you have thrown them out,
leaving a building whose rooms are scattered with folding chairs.
The wall which keeps us out of your space
has grown across the street,
and if I walk through the narrow alley between
no one will hear me in your silence.
So I will walk through your dim-lit parking lot,
because a short danger is better
than a long isolation.

I was co-writing a story with a friend of mine, Will, about two very strange, born-of-D&D individuals. We used to concoct chapters while walking to rehersals for Angels in America. I miss that collaboration, sharing a dynamic story with someone else. RPGs like the Floo Network and Firan are similar, but no the same. I miss it, particularly because that story was so very much fun. And I hardly hear from Will anymore.

Judge the angle. Shift.
Judge the angle again.
Where is the sun?
Where are your feet?
Where is you head;
don't lose it in over-thinking.
Forward, back, foward.
Forward again.
Try to think of nothing,
calculating the angles
and potential energy in a parry.
Feet.
Hands.
Head.
All or nothing:
fight!

( and randomness )