November 15, 2019, 01:49:48 PM

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Re: Fantasy Hive P.S. Love you all. Grateful for all you do to keep this site's heart beating. Merry Christmas :)
December 12, 2017, 02:46:26 PM
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Re: Politics and other ailments of the real world
You folks could always move to Akureyri.

Almost no crime, small enough to be quiet and big enough to offer every service, and a lovely geothermal swimming pool. Sure, the climate kind of sucks, but you can't have everything.

No joke, I have been trying to get my wife to agree to move out of the US for years now. I hate the gun culture here (and the acceptance of mass shootings), and the complete denial of reality by right-wingers, and the terrifyingly bad healthcare system and focus on the rich over the poor. As children in the US we are constantly indoctrinated by being told "The US is the best country in the world!" when in fact it has serious flaws.

I actually have a pretty good shot at getting a job in Sweden or Norway. Both have game companies that are hiring designers, and my master's allows them to hire me despite being a foreigners. Several of my friends have gone on to work for companies out there, so it's definitely a possibility.

But my wife went through college, grad school, and a got her Ph.D. so she could get her position as a tenured professor, and she really doesn't want to leave that (she loves the work). So my hope now is to convince Emma to study aboard when she turns 18 and hope she finds someone she likes while outside the US and decides to get married and stay there. At least then, I can get my child (and grandchildren) out of this backwards country. :p

December 17, 2017, 07:02:09 PM
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Re: Politics and other ailments of the real world I don't know who originally said it, but the best summary of Trump is still this:

"Donald Trump is a weak man's idea of a strong man."

December 23, 2017, 10:44:06 AM
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Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society

OK, deal me in. Ante up.

She is deafened by the sound of her own opinions.
They echo and rattle between the walls.
She rings them like cathedral bells;
There she is in the back
red-faced as a sacristan
delirious among the bell ropes.


Lovely! I really really liked the imagery and the under/overtones of your word choices, and the structure. And boy it reminded me of actual people!

February 04, 2018, 12:09:11 AM
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Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society @Skip, @idledragon27 , you folks are worthy poets for this society.
Really enjoyed your poems.
“Delirious among the bell ropes.” What an awesome line.
And “the bitter tears that salt our smiles.” Can I steal that?

WHY OH WHY IS PLAGIARISM CONSIDERED BAD FORM!!!!!!!!!?

February 04, 2018, 02:09:47 AM
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Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society My Two Hearts
Spoiler for Hiden:
There are two hearts, not one, inside of my chest,
That heat me and beat me from beneath the same breast,
Two hearts here inside me right from my start,
Two hearts that divide me and tear me apart.

One heart is cold and it beats slowly but strong,
It only wakes from its slumber when things have gone wrong.
It cares not a bit for the details or pain;
It just does the math, sees the truths that are plain:
That the lesser evil of several is the right path to take,
Even when what is lesser is bad enough to break,
My other, warmer heart, that would quake and refuse,
To weigh grisly horrors and could never choose,
To live or to act when all acts are impure,
And strength is what’s needed to overcome or endure.
No fear has my cold heart, just a grim, evil grin,
It just shrugs and it nods when the bad things begin.

When the path to compassion and mercy leads through,
Ruthless action and endurance and dreadful deeds I must do,
My cold heart only smiles as the bad news comes in,
When the delicacies all die and it’s time to begin.

Immune to distraction, it’s that heart I trust,
When strength is what is needed to do what I must.
To do things that no one ever wishes to do,
To make tough decisions that I will come to rue,
To prevent what is worse, to save all that can be,
Knowing that one day those actions will damn me,
When my warmer heart suffers long after the danger,
Sees memories of horrors, and in my mirror, a stranger.

February 04, 2018, 03:22:49 AM
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Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
OK, deal me in. Ante up.

She is deafened by the sound of her own opinions.
They echo and rattle between the walls.
She rings them like cathedral bells;
There she is in the back
red-faced as a sacristan
delirious among the bell ropes.

How do you know my mother well enough to write a poem about her?

February 04, 2018, 05:51:57 AM
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Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
This one hit me in the middle of the night. Fresh poem. Git yer fresh poems here!



She flew away from the sea tower
high across the salt hills.

White horses bore her among the gardiens,
through the brown marsh of the marais,
to the Arelat city,
where young men dare the horns of black bulls.

She rode with routiers,
the wagoneers,
along dusty roads, over wide rivers,
into the mountains where lives the fierce tarrasco.

She was the silver gull,
the child of great promise.
With her came the gnome,
the trovador
and the elf chevalier.

Mighty wizards trembled at their tread.

I love this!!!! I can totally hear someone in a cloak singing this to their party entertain themselves as they ride along a long journey through some fantastical forest.

February 06, 2018, 02:49:17 AM
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Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
Quote
Dawn kisses the winter darkness
and the stirring scent of coffee
steals the poet from his slumber
teasing possibilities
of a cold white horizon painted warm with words

Since my last poem became about coffee, it made me think of an earlier poem i wrote about Nyquil.

Ode to NyQuil

Oh NyQuil,
how doth I love thee!
My poetry hath not the words:
a meager ablution
that is but a distant echo of my true affections.

Thy cherry flavor
doth electrify my senses
a symphony of narcotic sweets
like ambrosia of the gods
or Mad Dog 20/20 mixed with ketamine.

My fingers doth lovingly caress
the stalwart surface of thy shatter-proof plastic.
Thy nighttime vigilance doth comfort
when all others hath abandoned me
to my springtime leprosy.

Oh NyQuil, dearest NyQuil
thy "Nighttime Relief"
to make "my bedtime my best time"
are merely banal words that cannot bespeak
the heavenly bliss of your precious gift
of comatose oblivion.

February 06, 2018, 03:05:40 AM
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Re: History for Fantasy Writers Wow that was fascinating
February 08, 2018, 08:51:25 PM
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