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LunaticStar

Published: Jul 13, 2011

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Literature Text

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Literature

Ward's Ferry: The Trial

The cobalt spire pierced the night sky like a knife, spotlights from its base grasping heavenward. Illuminating the starlit atmosphere, twin full moons cast deep honey hues on the rocky ground. At the base of the spire, they congregated. The litigators, the soldiers, the aliens. The war crimes trial had been short, potent, sharp as the monolith. Ida North was sure that she was going to die. She quaked feebly in her gray prison scrubs on a raised dais, ensconced in a narrow shock barrier. She'd been standing there for four hours, not allowed to sit. Legs trembling with exhaustion, Ida's wrists were bruising from the heavy shackles that disabled her cranial implant and weakened her motor functions. The bracers were a tool to restrain the largest, toughest and most vicious of criminals. Augmented super soldiers, seven foot aliens with razor sharp claws. But she was five foot and change, eyes puffy with tears and thin shoulders slumping as her waves of stygian hair lay in tangles along

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The storm

Cartilage-smooth azure extends above bent heads. Furrows s t r e t c h b e y o the edge

Literature

deliverance does not come,

as does the bell-boy from his duties, the rough-boned burly man from his cell. with the calendar days deemed ignorant, the time-clocks cloak themselves. from what? natural disasters are nothing, nothing I say, compared to cold metal making nests within a womb. and men, are wild - run rampant through the night, start fights, take heaven to tired veins and in blind glory, ignite.

Literature

The Great Wall

When papers ask me where I'm from, I write "Seattle," because they don't want to know the real answer. When people ask me where I'm from, I say "downtown," and they take a good look at me and take that to mean "Chinatown." My parents run one of the zillion dim sum restaurants here. They're what the white kids at school call "fresh off the boat." Most of the people here are. They don't speak English at home, and they try not to at work. They don't watch anything on American TV; they read the local Chinese paper and watch the one Asian channel, pausing to turn off the TV in disgust whenever one of the five daily Korean soap operas comes on. On

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literary notes

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Motivation

To the people constantly reminding me that I can't This is neither a sweet talk nor a rant This is a declaration A fact, a revelation Your lack of comprehension Doesn't make my dream a delusion You follow the law and the regulations I follow my beliefs and my intuitions Social conduct created by the powerful according to their notion It's not right it's just a barrier for our imagination Followed by people who want the easy way out Sacrificing their opinion, following the system without a doubt It's my identity, my devotion It's my weapon to stop destruction What you consider a purposeless figure Is my existential motivation

Literature

I'd Rather Be Dead

You're always asking me if I had anything worth dying for. I'll pose the opposite to you and ask you this: "Why is it that you find life to be worth living?" Is it so interesting to go through each day feeling anxious? To the point that you feel nauseated enough to collapse. Is it so joyous to spend each night staring at a blank ceiling, Hearing the clock tick on toward morning, And yet you lie awake. Tired, but awake, emotionless, but awake... Do you truly get up each day, facing it with optimism. Or do you look at the news and the state of the world, And genuinely fear for your safety? Now, if it were me that you had asked my de

Poetry

Literature

Ich bin

Ich bin, der kommt, ich bin, der geht, ich bin, der immer schon hier war. Ich bin, der wacht, ich bin, der spricht. Ich bin der Hauch vom letzten Jahr. Ich bin die Nacht und bin die Früh. Ich bin der Mond (die Sonne nie). Ich bin das Wort, ich bin das Buch, ich bin, der all die Worte sucht, bin der Fürimmer, bin der Moment und der die Zeit manchmal verpennt. Aber ich bin. Ich bin der, alles, der nirgendwo zu Tod betrübt und liebesfroh. Ich bin, der kommt, ich bin, der geht, ich bin, der immer bei dir war: Ich bin der Wind in deinem Haar.

Literature

A Sudden Flight

Ink-black birds scatter, Writing lines of free verse Across a paper sky.

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Dollars be United.

We are united. - - - - - We live amongst regular civilians, in our regular attire, regular jobs, and almost regular daily life. What united us is that single message. That single call. That single e-mail. That single letter. That single password. That single website. That gathering of fates. Gathering of souls. - - - - - We are invisible. - - - - - Some of us came from the countryside, working hard, living a hand-to-mouth existence every day. Some of us are a bit better off, with enough money for some worldly entertainment and leisures, and supporting our own families. Some of us came here to study, and to be a bette

Literature

Invincible

I am a laborer of dreams and I'm building up a pyramid. The ghosts might try to kill me but I learned to always live with it. The fragile thoughts that draw you to the edge of your ill mind; Believe when I say that giving up would be a true crime. The only thing that you should do is plow ahead forward, No stepping back because I got your back and that's a foreword An introductory paragraph to what it means to me, when I have always told you that we are going to be:

Literature

Kingpin

I have recently learned that every man has his limit. There is only so much suffering you can endure, before you finally decide to snap. Some go crazy and make a fool of themselves, others sink deep into a dark place that no soul should venture. But a small percentage, experience a change. They realize that the world for all its ugliness, is still a garden; A garden of filth blossoms and fly traps, but a garden nonetheless. And what matters is that we harvest from this garden, until it can give us no more. For if we must be slaves to our torment, then I would prefer to endure--in style Now then, it seems the Mad King must get a new ident

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Hot off the press, apologies for typos and badness! xD

In this episode: Darcy speaks French! Morgy thinks about history again! Neil almost vomits. Situation: Normal.

And a bit more about Toric, according to Morgy. And the Cloud, in dream land, again, and the Voice. Who is the voice? What do they want, or do they want only to help Toric? And Toric's childhood, in THIS novel! But only a sentence or two. Heh heh. I'm evil.

Coming up Next! Morgy gets his wish of not making a stop in the Between. NOT!! Hahahahaha.