And here he sat, comprehending his own villainy, the muck and murk of human myopia and his fleshly urges to short-lived pleasures, all but castrating himself over his indescribable badness, refusing to qualify the foulness of his sin against such terrors as the kings of history and prehistory when suddenly the page spoke and said:
“Then confess if you’re so guilty. But keeping it all to yourself like this, obviously you don’t feel that bad about it.”
“Evil exists to be forgotten. When all men are dead, the good men will have gone on and left the evil ones behind in the place of no names.”
And while you might disagree, someone infinitely more important than you has decided you’re an alright sort of bloke. Without opening the door on unbridled hedonism, know that it really doesn’t matter.”
“You recognize the wrongness of it. Disassemble the transgression, examine and multiply its parts. Realize the brute pleasures come of someone else’s expense, virtual or real. And thereby brand it as the valueless thing that it is.”
“Move on. Giving up is only proving one thing.”
You can be a good Christian.
He’s already forgiven you.
So forgive yourself.
Sorry about sporadic posts. Exams, projects, papers, and my own lack of self-discipline (or perhaps simply normal discipline that fails to compare to the Roman standards I hold myself to) have all gotten in the way of keeping this regularly updated, as well as writing and generally enjoying life’s other pleasures besides stuffing my face with low quality confectionery.
I was bored, or more accurately, in a frenzied trance induced by Wardruna and my daily ADHD medications (and around 400 grams of sugar), and wrote this piece from start to finish, a short story from the perspective of one of the Syntar, depicted in that other post about them.
With less flapping gums and more content, here it is:
Oh, and if you’re so inclined, I appreciate feedback. It’s by no means required (not that I’d have any way to enforce it; I’m not the CCP), but giving me your thoughts 1) helps me write better stories, 2) inflates my ego that people actually care, and 3) lets me evaluate where this blog is going in terms of audience and content. And 4) makes me very, very happy. And don’t feel afraid to drop links or ask me to visit your blog, being directly impelled to read others’ content is excellent motivation to get out there and see what all everyone else has to offer.
Continue reading Another Story: Kyrieleis
Signing on again because…
I had potatoes. And pork chops.
I’ll put up a story, this time in English so my audience can actually read it (don’t actually know how many of my visitors are fluent in Russian or Russians, but I suspect they are few, out of some utterly irrational gut feeling.)
Oh, and this is a LOOOOONG one. I hope that’s alright.
Sincerest apologies for the dearth of incessantly upbeat humor, I’m full of pig and sleepiness.
This is a more or less complete story, open-ended enough that I can change the ending at will, set once upon a time in Sicily to the tune of Ennio Morricone’s “Rabbia e Tarantella,” from the film Allonsanfan and reused as the credits theme for Inglorious Basterds.
Read, enjoy, comment and critique below as you please, but most importantly, maintain regular bowel movements, its unhealthy to let sh*t ferment inside of you.
Continue reading A Tale of Two Murderers
If by happenstance someone who reads Russian comes across this blog, feel free to read it! If you’re really that curious, ask me, and I might actually get to translating it into English.
Because I didn’t write this in English. Just to be clear.
Also, my Russian grammar is terrible.
Холодно, холодно сердцею,
по Ёнотан Вонг.
Там будут нимного ошибек, поэтому много извениния.
Вечеру холодно. Воздух заполнятся крошечеые пятнышков холодность, но он не может видеть один снежинка он вздохнул и продолжает его прогулку, его ботинки загушаются с снегом. Continue reading A Story (По-русски, друзья!)