i can haz buttsecks plz: alternative writing group's Journal|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 6 most recent journal entries recorded in
i can haz buttsecks plz: alternative writing group's LiveJournal:
|Thursday, November 1st, 2007|
hisa bisa dana
Hullo darlings!! Today is November 1st! Know what that means? Of course you do! NaNoWriMo!!! I felt that our group should be a place to post excerpts and such. Who's doing it? Post your name here :) (Mine's balletvamp, surprising ne?)
If you somehow don't know what NaNoWriMo is go here: www.nanowrimo.org
also, I'll post a new challenge in the next few days for the group (which should also be an art group I think, besides just writing). blah blah bliddy blah...
Dobby relished his groin-mounted chainsaw's roar as he withdrew the flesh-choked blade from the astronaut's ruined skull. He turned to Harry.
"How does ronnie ron taste, master?"
Harry irritably spat out an eyeball. "How am I supposed to eat ron if you keep talking to me?"
Dobby egged an astronaut's poison barbed fist, digging his chainsaw into the beast's abdomen and letting the spray of viscera wash over his gleaming elven space armor. The skulls' eye sockets on his shoulders grew brilliant with infernal light, their power fed by the astronaut blood, and the skulls vomited a bolt of light through an astronaut leaping though the air; he was thrown back against the wall, his flesh boiling in another dimension. Harry snapped at Dobby.
"How are we going to complete the ceremony if you keep messing around?"
"Master, look out!"
Dobby's groin-mounted chainsaw screamed an unholy curse as it flew off the armor, rocketing through the air like an early dream of mankind. It flew right thro
|Friday, October 5th, 2007|
Ooer, I have no idea where I put the file I was going to post. Never fear, I shall find it. In the meanwhile, here's another theme idea thinger. I'm so glad you guys are doing this! *pats y'all on the back*
Since it's October and thus the best month of the year what with Halloween and the awesome weather and generally spooky feel to everything, let's get into the spirit shall we?
-The Supernatural: put something in your writing that deals with the otherworldly, from ghosts to witches to demons to anything that goes bump in the night
-A deathfic or maybe a series of death shorts (one deviantartist last year drew a different way to die for each day of october: http://kacfrog711.deviantart.com/
So yeah, keep on writing guys. And totally post older stuff too! I know you guys have some! Do it!
|Monday, October 1st, 2007|
This is redundant if you have me friended, which I think you all do
Emblazoned upon the marble columns of the Scientific Legate's great hall were the words to which a generation of men in white coats had given their lives in service. Putus Bulla parumper Putus Clementia
: Pure Research for a Pure Mankind, the oft repeated quip cum mantra of Edward Kahn, a 21st century pioneer in emotional biology. Now, at the turn of the 22nd century, that field had finally come into its own. The formation of the Scientific Legate was integral to this affirmation of the value of so-called "untargeted research," and with it the loosening of theretofore tightly drawn government purse strings. Indeed, as an executively appointed organization that counted many prominent senators and congressmen among its rolls, the hand of the Legate itself was free to rifle through the state's coffers with something close to impunity. An executive decree had given that August body nigh-unrestricted authority over most matters even tangentially related to the material supply of their research until, ultimately, Agriculture, Health and Human Services and Energy were deemed within its oversight. While a wave of disgusted resignations met with each grand stride taken by the SL, these positions were summarily replaced by Legate members within a matter of weeks. The organization had grown quickly, easily rivaling any one branch of government in its scope of authority.
Unfortunately, 2109 had found biologists within the Legate in compromised position. It seemed that, while triumphs in human arcology had allowed for a good two billion individuals to weather the trophic cascade in '033, man was now alone on the planet save for a few extraordinarily hearty microorganisms (in which both the public and the president took an intransigent disinterest). For the better part of the 21st century, the Biologists' Council had adopted the Quixotic motto: "What life? We shall show you!" and articulated their research agendas as pilgrimic quests for new life upon a changed Earth.* It gradually became clear that this asseverance was untenable until finally, in 2109, SL Director of Biological Empiricism Shelton Delangrove declared with some aplomb, "This planet is dead. Until such time as we can get ourselves another one, the future of biological sciences must be a journey inward." And with that, the Delangrove Symposium became a full time job for a legion of grant writers.
Strictly speaking, there was nothing remarkable about the equipment itself other than its size. The principle piece of machinery was a specialized kind of electroencephelogram that fed 144 inputs into a supercomputer known as Slow Gypsy. What made the project unique was that the Biologists Council, being quite unable to secure bodies of any other kind, had elected to experiment upon themselves. Distinguished scholars from every major research institution were hooked all together by sophisticated neural uplink like argonauts of human transcendence. Each isolated a particular variable within himself according to his own theory of pineal or pituitary latency. Together, they lay dead or dreaming within the great hall of the Scientific Legate, closely attended to by buzzardly associates whose pens hissed upon jealously guarded clipboards. In the eyes of these assistants gleamed the dull avarice of one who seeks the immortality of historical distinction and that glower did lend a suffuse light to the furthest corners of the room.
The first few years were steeped in a seemingly quiescent tension until Dr. Heldrick Hobson, his morphine IV having been inappropriately affixed by an incompetent graduate student, came to in a fit of convulsive vomiting and incoherent ravings of a color beyond space wherein the Tetragrammaton laid out a very particular set of instructions for humanity. The immediate specifics of those instructions were lost in a turmoil that became standard format thenceforth. Much of the volume of this turmoil came from Hobson's own team who, over his own geriatric mutterings, insisted that his voyage beyond the material realm had given him weird and supernormal capabilities which promised an untold boon to mankind. Teams of researchers began to awaken their patrons on purpose, begging them for insight and often inventing it where it did not exist. The unsure apprehension in the room evaporated as the true purpose of that intellectual arena was instantaneously and universally realized. Untargeted research was now surely third to rhetoric and second to sabotage. The secretive paranoia had given way to bawdy shouting arguments that amounted to little more than name-calling dressed up in the technical jargon of the day, but provided lucrative publishing deals to the loudest mouths.
While significant, this was the less important precedent set by Hobson's team. Having always understood that no experiment could be scientifically verifiable without a control group against which to measure it, they began the now widely accepted practice of offering up their own children to Slow Gypsy's ports in an attempt to see the effects of their chosen variable upon a tabula rasa
. While the moral "stickiness" of forcing a human to go from infancy to morbidity in a state of unconsciousness was considered by the Legate's Ethical Review Board the following January, the matter was deemed best left decided by each individual family. Where the Biologists Council was concerned, there was no quandary. After all, these were men who had pledged their lives in service, and this was for the good of mankind.*A breakaway sect of biologists known as the Simon Grail Society maintained that the key to Applicable Human Transcendence (AHT) could only be found within our closest relatives: the lower primates. With such vigor did these impassioned visionaries attack the remaining stores of primate test subjects that, within 10 years, every last simian had been vivisected. Simon Grail ultimately disintegrated at the point where it had come to take 10 pages of triplicate forms to obtain sixteen ounces of the remaining primate viscera, necessarily rationed as it was.
|Sunday, September 23rd, 2007|
First Official Theme!
Okay guys, for serious now. Don't be lame. I'm even giving you the special Eliza Dushku icon to spur on your creative juices. (What?? It works for me!) Anyhow, for this first one you can post something you've already written (like my last post that no one responded to said) or here's a couple of themes to choose from:
1)fait des beaux reves; sweet dreams
2)Self Sacrifice for an Ideal - (Hero, Ideal, Person or Thing Sacrificed)
And of course, you can just write whatever you want and post it. If anyone has any theme ideas, post those too. I KNOW you guys have stuff already written, so there's no excuse not to post anything if you don't feel like writing this week. I'd definitely like to read stuff from the past.
*hugs and kittens*
|Thursday, September 20th, 2007|
In The Beginning There Was Nothing...
So first topic: I thought we could each just post one or two pieces of writing that we already have done (it's okay if some people have read them already) just to get started.
Also, I thought it'd be cool to recommend books, short stories, etc that you think others would enjoy or get inspiration out of. (So it can be kind of a book group too, yays!)
Go forth my beloved friends!