Currently on hiatus. Will resume in July, or sooner.

Current story updates:

Current story interludes/Side stories:
Every other Saturday

Other pieces:
Every other Saturday (Saturdays I don't run the Interludes/Side Stories)

During certain periods updates may come more often; at other times updates may come less often. This schedule is my hoped-for goal.

Wednesday, 30 April 2014

Madame Mate; Voleuse!

Bonjour mes amies.
Mais quelle mauvaises nouvelles! La célébré professeure d’anglais à Danforth CTI a été arrêté!
J’espère que tous les étudiants vont lui visiter en la prison de sécurité maximale.
Mais quel crime avait-elle commis? Qu’est-ce qui se passe pour mettrait-elle en la prison?
C’est un crime d’un esprit supérieur, c’est toute bien planifie, c’est un plan quelques années dans la fabrication.
C’est fou, oui, mais c’est brillant! Ne personne va le prévoir.
J’ai entendu dire qu’il serait un succès, mais un étudiant avait fouiné autours de l’école, et qu’il l’avait vu.
Quelques moments plus tard, les policiers avaient arrivé en force avec beaucoup des forces spéciales.
Ma source m’a dit que Madame Mate avait essayé d’échapper, mais que les policiers lui avaient attrapé quand elle avait essayé de sauter le cordon de police.
Qu’est-ce qui se passe avec la professeure? Qu’est-ce qui se passe avec les étudiants? Qui peut répondre à mes questions?
Au revoir;

Le Kreen.

French Assignment.

Friday, 25 April 2014

Street corner poetry

Main and Danforth
By Kees Schuller

As I squint against the glare,
Of sun off the shining river of cars,
The flow of people moving slows
To nothing more
Than a
And stops.
As the light changes. A brief respite between
Go and Go and Go, signs for speed, action.
By contrast to the rushing roar of life,
This afternoon the church is deserted, lifeless.
Empty of movement, life, its dark and closed.
Gods words fall only on empty pews.
Instead the blind, those who wish to see the truth,
They hurry by, across the street in a rush.
Eyes stare down at them from walls, the roof as
They open the door, trade paper and polymer
For new eyes, for clarity
Of vision.
A horn honks as a car is slow to leap ahead.
It breaks the moment, everyone looks,
At the car too slow to start
After the passing of a bus.
The delay, the jolt at the honk,
Lets several more buses, streetcars, slip by, towards, or away
From the station that is their purpose, destination,
Or from that center of action, the hub,
Out to find more food for the beast, hand to mouth.
As people run to catch the bus, or slowly march
Across the street. Linger on the street corner,
Unsure of where to go, as they sniff,
Unappetizing smell of shawarma wafting from next
To the drug mart, that nobody enters.
But though they linger, nobody looks.
Nobody stops, peruses.
Everybody rushes for the bus, the subway, the streetcar,
Or for vision, for food, or just rushing past this place.
To the bank maybe, or the condo, or the anywhere else.
They ignore the plaza with its pigeons and straight lined trees,
That are now curly confused and different.
Nobody stops at the house of God,
And even those who bought new sight don’t stop to marvel
At how they can see the lines, the day, world, anew.
Why should they?
It has become
Something that
Is normal
And lacking wonder.
Bill boards, buses, busy people.
Condos, drug store, and ennui.
This bustling intersection,
So colourful near the sky, but on the ground, gray
Is by far the least important
Part of their day.

Nobody stops here unless the sign is red,
Or they see their bus slowing at the superfluous stop
Nobody reads the billboards, so why are they there?
To add colour to a sky,
That has its own palette?
The house of the dead tells of dignity;
Does this place even have any?
At the end, it must. A hub of people,
Of transit, steel beasts,
One whole corner devoted to housing,
Under the loud signs, the bright people,
The gleaming buses and rushing sun
Its a place that is so important.
Home, hub, place of God, of new vision,
With people everywhere.
It has dignity, has meaning, after all.
But when they look at this place,
Do they see it?

Main and Gerrard

Its funny.
How little meaning a place can have,
When you pass through it twice daily.
Like this place with no particular meaning.
Behind me is the ice rink;
Behind both geographically, and in time.
White sign, white roof, beige walls.
White is faded, dim, and dirty.
Beige splotched with otherness.
Trees flank the entrance, but not too close.
And the flagpole without a flag
Makes some kind of statement
But of what, I do not know.
Melting slush can be seen around the corner
Near where children play in the field.
Do they live in the field of brick mirrors,
At the edge of that field of grass?
Row upon row of sameness. But homes, nonetheless.
They draw my eye, away,
From the grimy delicatessen,
Which has no appearance of being delicate,
Or of ever eating something.
Signs that say stop change my path to signs that say go,
And I cross, past the median, dividing line attended
By those impatient transit takers,
As my feet carry me towards the “Now Open” sign.
How long until that sign reads “Now Closed”?
Fish and chips became a doctor for
Fish and chipper animals.
The grinding of a streetcar pulls my head around with
A whistle, a screech of metal shrieking, as it turns.
Breaks, takes, my thoughts in a flash.
The impatients have their patience rewarded.
The noise gone, the thoughts resume, and notice
The flow of cars outweighs the flow of pedestrians
A thousand to one.
Not a place to stand, to walk?
But no, there, a boy walks into the ice rink.
Somebody walks here after all.
The smell of gasoline dances past my wrinkled nostrils as
I walk from dark, to light, to dark and cold.
Wind whips past the glass shelter as I hurry
On past the dispensary.
Then I’m past this place for the second time today.
And its funny.
It still has no particular meaning.

Saturday, 5 April 2014

The Dark Spiral: 1

Jor stood at the window and looked out over the field below. One hand clasped the other at the small of his back. A breeze from outside ruffled his hair. It was getting longer now, long enough that a breeze could do that.
It felt good to have it long, after having had it shaved all those years with Callion. And Naci liked it, so there was that bonus as well.
Jor shook his head in mild bemusement. Naci. She had taken him back in. After those years apart, after knowing who and what he was.
He didn’t understand it, didn’t know why, didn’t really care. Because he was happy now. Happier than he had ever been, even happier than during their time on Mars.
He figures that that was because he was finally free. Free of Callion, free of his past, free of his own darkness.
He supposed that he had the Butcher to thank for that, but he would never thank the Butcher for anything.
Where he had once respected killing found it to be an art form, a worthwhile deed, but to be done with care and precision, the Butcher had just killed wantonly, not caring who she hurt.
If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t much cared either. He had enjoyed killing just as much as the Butcher.
But he was past that now. That was done. He was free.
Free to enjoy the air on his face, the breeze in his hair, the scene of beauty on the Martian field below.
The feeling of Naci’s warmth as she wrapped her arms around him from behind.
“Hello dear”
“Why so formal?”
“I don’t know. I’m just in a bit of an introspective mood”
“I know, I know, I’m not supposed to think about the times before”
“Thats right. It makes you all melancholy and moody, and I do not like that. So don’t”
“Ok Naci, I won’t”
She turned him to face her and smacked him very lightly on the cheek.
“Thats for lying to me”
“I didn’t-”
“Yes you did. I know you Jor. You’re going to keep thinking about the past time and time again. For as long as you live you are going to keep thinking about it. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t tell you to stop every time I catch you”
She smiled as she looked at him again.
He smiled back, as always amazed at the warmth within her, how she could care so much for him despite what he had put her through. The best he could do was pay her back by being happy, by letting go of the past for the moment.
“Ok, I’ll stop for now. No promises about later”
“So, what did you want me for?”
“Do I need to have a reason to stand beside the man I love and appreciate a fine spring morning?”
“I guess not”
“So then be quiet, and let me enjoy this breeze Jor”
He smiled again as he looked back out the window over the field. It was going to be a good day. He could tell.

The Dark Spiral: Explanation

This has a funny story behind it. I sat down at the computer every day for the past three days, opened the file folder where I store my writing, opened a blank word document, and then stared at the screen.
I'd toss out a few words, maybe half a paragraph or two. If I was lucky I'd get a page.
Then I'd alt-tab to another window and start watching an anime or something. Which, if you have ever been hooked on a show, it is hard to blame me for doing. Or I dunno, maybe its not.
Point is, I could not write anything. At all. I would get something out, then get tired. I needed an idea, I needed a character that I liked, and I needed something that I could really get behind.
But what?
I've spent the last little while putting most of my writing output into Hunting. And, I really got behind those characters.
But I kinda killed those characters off and ended the story... yah. Not my brightest idea.
Then, in the middle of a coughing fit this morning (I know, weirdest place to get inspiration huh?) I got inspiration.
So, this is The Dark Spiral. It's going to start out with one story, then jump to another for, as far as I can foresee, quite some time.
And then its going to join up with the first story again. I hope you like it!