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another scrap, unexpectedlyI knew the notebook from somewhere. The small, frayed blue book hung in a dusty corner of my memory, somewhere I could not quite retrieve. It is an odd sensation to be terrified and know not of what, but that is what I experienced. I froze, hand hovering over the book, drawn to inaction by means of indecision. What was in this book? What vague, silent note of warning was echoing down the halls of my memory? A brief image of pages spiraling unnaturally, the book paging through itself, a shadowy script that twisted in the corners of my vision as I tried to read it. Were these memories? Dreams? Visions? I knew not, and thus could notanother scrap, unexpectedly
by ~drewablank
On a Thursday NightSpyder never was one for standing still. On this particular night he was pacing back and forth, back and forth like some great meat popsicle. I mean, pendulum. Well, either one is pretty accurate. The snows were pretty bad, and we'd been all but cut off from the cloth of society. I mean, fold. We were our own little patchwork of pedantic pugilism out there in the wild, beating the order of man into the chaos of nature. Honestly, is there anything more unnatural than a log cabin with a fire, in the woods? A house made of neatly ordered trees, in which trees are burned, in a landscape of randomly placed trees. Maybe Spyder was pacing becaOn a Thursday Night
by ~drewablank
american energyAmerica runs on batteries on carburetors, converters, concubines, culling, on dreams, desires, derivations, on enormous and far-flung filial gangs, on hot-headed indigents, justified killings (losses sans layman's), on multiplying narcissistic neo-natalists nationalizing an onerous purported qualm resulting from restitutions, of servitude, statutes, terms of termination and trepidation, on underlying unrealized Utopian visions visualized by the V.F.W, victims of the ward-wantonly go-Westward ways of xenophobes, on zagging zygotes zaxed.american energy
by ~drewablank
Riot FragmentThe city lay gasping, panting as its people raced over it like fire ants tearing pieces of its flesh apart. The air was electric, it was on fire, it was a soupy morass of sweat and blood and tears and triumph and death. Windows shattered, turning blind and broken eyes to the heaving masses, buildings crumbled with fire and explosions and the sheer mass of anger pushing down upon them, streets aged and weathered and were torn up and built anew with corpses and guns and bricks and shattered glass. Chaos had visited and set up its home. The people gasped and shuddered and thrust and bucked and shimmied through the streets, caught, entranceRiot Fragment
by ~drewablank
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- Favourite movie: Six String Samurai
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I have a quality unquantifiable by its very nature: perversity.
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"you fight great but i'm a great fighter"
Apollo Creed
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