krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)

Originally published at One Misfired Synapse. You can comment here or there.

Let me take a moment to talk about a woman I know. She’s floats in a few of my social circles. She’s not just a loose friend of mine (every discussion draws us a little tighter), she’s also one of my idols. No pedestals for this broad though. The envy-tinged respect I have for her has been well earned. She’s approachable, she’s amicable, and she’s very friendly. Maybe too friendly for her own good. I count myself lucky enough that I’m probably one of her few fans that she doesn’t handle with kid gloves.

We also have a few things in common.

There’s a few parallels between Marrus and I. We’re both artists. There’s no way around it. It’s what we do, and we can’t get escape it. We also spent years on the road, doing the whole Renne Faire circuit thing. We’re both really well known in that circle, if for way different reasons. We’ve both had a few things published. We both try to eek out some sort of living being artists. We’re both pretty sharp witted and we never run out of things to say.

There’s some contrast between us. We’re very much in love with New Orleans. She’s a native. I’ve adopted the place. She’s great with kids, they kinda frighten me. She’s bright colours and sparkles. I’m dark and spikey. Seelie to Unseelie if you get the mythos. She’s the gentle queen of the court, I’m the evil jester.

The main difference between her and I (if it’s really considered a “difference”) is that while we may be on the same path, she’s definately way ahead of me. She’s way ahead of the game. More than likely, because she fought much harder for it than I have. She’s earned her successes. I’m just now starting to steal mine. She’s living my dream, and it’s been a pleasure watching her do it. If I’m going to pick anyone to live vicariously through, I couldn’t pick a nicer gal.

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krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
The average human, even at his best, uses only 11 to 15 percent of one’s brain.

Malkirk figured he was hovering around 30%. Normally, something like this would be a complete and total blessing. It’s more of a curse when its not natural. He’d be proving to himself that he’s an idiot if he wished to never have this gift, but he did wish this wasn’t someone’s attempt to make him a more efficient tool of some cliched “x-files” black agency.

Luckily the agency was dead. Literally. He made sure of it. Now he was free. The first incident in the lab with the virus. The escape from the vault. The hunted becoming the hunter. Thinking about the hellfire made him instinctively drop one of his hands from the handlebars to his holster.

He smiled. Almost struck delirious in his freedom. It had been a long one man war. All the death and destruction, all the fear and betrayal. The end justified the means. He could’ve felt bad for all the damage done, but the penance came before the sins, and they could have always just walked away.

He pulled the throttle all the way open, feeling the lateral G’s try to wretch away his grip. As the motorcycle screamed along the asphalt, speed and physics turned a simple bike ride into a test of human reflexes.

Clutch in, throttle back. Shift up, throttle out. Once smooth movement, the bike kicked into it’s top gear with a perfect smoothness. The machine stopped being a test, and became a tool of inevitability. No human had the reflexes capable of handling this new momentum.

He closed his eyes as he exhaled, letting his torso rest against the gas tank. Then he opened himself up. Every nerve in his body became a sort of radar. He could feel every part of the engine, screaming like a banshee, spinning like a tornado. He could feel the change of the tires as their grip fluctuated with the increase in speed and friction. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the slipstream of the air as it bent around him. In this mind-state, he could catch a bullet with his hands, a motorcycle nearing the speed of sound wasn’t a challenge. Even on these roads.

Beyond human, but not quite god. To think, this was only his second day of freedom.

The tampering of his body may have been a treacherous gift, but a gift none the less. He would of thanked the people who did this to him, if he had a soul that night.

But with his freedom came a chance to find it again. Once step closer to heaven.

krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)

Originally published at Shelter The Devil. You can comment here or there.

Anyways, I’ve also gone ahead and created a blog, something I haven’t really had since I last had a domain a few years ago. Shit, I was blogging before the term even existed; we’re talking back in the era of E/N sites. StileProject didn’t have porn ads, there was no blogosphere. I’m a little shocked. Back in the day there really wasn’t much out there in terms and resources for anyone who wanted to have a ‘blog’ (man, i *still* feel weird even using that term.). You wanted a blog, you opened up notepad and you wrote it yourself. You wanted links, you went out there and looked for them. Then you e-mailed other webmasters and you bartered for reciprocal links.

Now it’s a simple matter of creating a blog, then clicking a few links. Traffic is created for you. Images are generated online instantly. Templates are everywhere. Honestly, if you have the information architecture, you don’t really need anything else. Follow the directions, do a quick google search and you will never have to contact a web designer the entire time. Sounds great, unless you’re one of them.

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November 2016



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