Floating Through Time and Space
By: James Dubeau
Floating through time and space
Letting things roll on by
Not absorbing
Nor partaking
Merely observing
As I travel
Down the road of life
Monday, April 13, 2009
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Can't Keep It Up
Can’t Keep It Up
By: James Dubeau
Balls high in the air
Bouncing one, two, three
Added four, five, six
Catch and release
Hands moving quick
Can’t keep it up
Irons deep in the fire
Flames licking high
From the white hot coals
Needing to be pulled
Hands sear from heat
It is to painful
Plates spinning fast
High atop the poles
Slowing down, wobbling
Gravity taking hold
Hands spinning fast and soft
Can’t keep going
Body aches and screams
Hands cramp and curl
Mind pounds and thuds
Time to cleanse
Mind, body, and soul
Determination will pull through
By: James Dubeau
Balls high in the air
Bouncing one, two, three
Added four, five, six
Catch and release
Hands moving quick
Can’t keep it up
Irons deep in the fire
Flames licking high
From the white hot coals
Needing to be pulled
Hands sear from heat
It is to painful
Plates spinning fast
High atop the poles
Slowing down, wobbling
Gravity taking hold
Hands spinning fast and soft
Can’t keep going
Body aches and screams
Hands cramp and curl
Mind pounds and thuds
Time to cleanse
Mind, body, and soul
Determination will pull through
Monday, April 06, 2009
Free Write
Was showing off my new computer to a friend, the keys are glossy and kind of funky to type on. She did some free writing while listening in to the conversations. It had amused me enough to share it.
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There is a satisfying click. I really like to type fast. Typing is therapeutic. It’s the ability to automatically render exactly what you are thinking as you are thinking it…it makes me feel like a robot. Or a cyborg? Jo the cyborg, hmm. Ben asked me what I’m thinking, I told him that I am writing a story. Remember the typewriter? The typewriter was the coolest invention. I wish that computers dinged when you reach the end of the line. I shall evaluate words and such. James is entertaining. I’m not sure what he’s talking about but its making me smile. Something about ‘auto-correcting’. James has my drawing from years ago as a background on his computer. It makes me want to make another drawing for him, so that I don’t have to keep looking at such an awful old sketch. Speaking of drawing, I hate it. It’s maddening. I haven’t had the time to do any work, and every time I sit back to draw whatever I manage to churn out looks like pencil excrement. It’s rather discouraging, but at the same time I have no motivation to spend my time trying to better myself as an artist because I’m too damn tired at the end of the day.
Damn days. Days suck.
I’ve decided that days should stop being days. Nights are no better though. They should find some new alternative. Something cooler. Like perpetual morning? I like morning. That’s probably my favorite part of the day…the lazy part of the morning when you’ve finally recovered from waking up. I am happiest sitting on my couch eating a nice bowl of granola in soy milk and watching the 7am train go by. The day just goes to shit from there.
I think I’ve finally run out of computer ink. Or rather, ‘brain ink’…yes, I’m done. My brain is drained. I’m brained….good night.
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There is a satisfying click. I really like to type fast. Typing is therapeutic. It’s the ability to automatically render exactly what you are thinking as you are thinking it…it makes me feel like a robot. Or a cyborg? Jo the cyborg, hmm. Ben asked me what I’m thinking, I told him that I am writing a story. Remember the typewriter? The typewriter was the coolest invention. I wish that computers dinged when you reach the end of the line. I shall evaluate words and such. James is entertaining. I’m not sure what he’s talking about but its making me smile. Something about ‘auto-correcting’. James has my drawing from years ago as a background on his computer. It makes me want to make another drawing for him, so that I don’t have to keep looking at such an awful old sketch. Speaking of drawing, I hate it. It’s maddening. I haven’t had the time to do any work, and every time I sit back to draw whatever I manage to churn out looks like pencil excrement. It’s rather discouraging, but at the same time I have no motivation to spend my time trying to better myself as an artist because I’m too damn tired at the end of the day.
Damn days. Days suck.
I’ve decided that days should stop being days. Nights are no better though. They should find some new alternative. Something cooler. Like perpetual morning? I like morning. That’s probably my favorite part of the day…the lazy part of the morning when you’ve finally recovered from waking up. I am happiest sitting on my couch eating a nice bowl of granola in soy milk and watching the 7am train go by. The day just goes to shit from there.
I think I’ve finally run out of computer ink. Or rather, ‘brain ink’…yes, I’m done. My brain is drained. I’m brained….good night.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Springtime Allergies
Springtime Allergies
By: James Dubeau
Runny nose
Watery eyes
Springtime allergies
Aren’t no fun
Pet the dog
Dust the counter
Indoor allergies
Can’t be beat
Blow the nose
Pop the pills
Sooner or latter
Spring will die
By: James Dubeau
Runny nose
Watery eyes
Springtime allergies
Aren’t no fun
Pet the dog
Dust the counter
Indoor allergies
Can’t be beat
Blow the nose
Pop the pills
Sooner or latter
Spring will die
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
A Bard’s Overture
A Bard’s Overture
By: James Dubeau
The dining area of the Ashlawn Inn was filled with music that morning. In the corner sat a young gentleman who alternated between singing and playing his flute. Dawn light filtered through the windows illuminating his brick red skin and twisted horns. A tail poking out from under his dull red hide armor thumped along in rhythm to the songs.
Over the hills
And through the woods
An adventure shall always find you
Weather on foot
Or sailing seas
An adventure shall always find you
Follow the plea
Against your will
When an adventure comes to find you
For it is not
Every day
That adventure comes and finds you
Smells of eggs and bacon wafted through the Inn as the rest of the adventurers filtered into the dining area. To each the seated man in the corner smiled and did a half bow as he continued to play. As soon as there were four men seated around the table, he finished his last song and proceeded to cross the dining hall. His five foot long tail swished behind him as he walked.
Upon reaching the table the bard spoke and bowed deeply. “My name is Barakas Reverence of Bruskas Crossing. If I am not mistaken, you four must be representatives of the other towns felled with curse.”
The barmaid made her way around the table, placing plates heaping of eggs and bacon in front of each of the men along with pitchers of water, juice, and ale. Working their way around the table, the four men introduced themselves while feasting on the morning meal.
“I am Samel, hailing from the village of Cardinal Glen,” said the tall and stocky purple skinned individual that sat next to Barakas. His priestly robes clinked as he moved, indicating that chainmail armor was worn underneath. “Your music and song would be a great addition to the temple. If only it hadn’t succumbed to that dreadful curse, now the main temple is turning into swampy ruins.”
An extra empty plate sat next to Samel, noticing the questioning look from Barakas he added, “The extra plate is for my god, Hanine. It is only proper to set a place for her, should she ever make her presence known at meal times. A long standing tradition at the temple.
A fair skinned individual sat next to Samel, his dark cloak and hair seemingly framed his pale skin. Pointed ears stuck out from under the mop of hair, still untidy from the nights rest. He fidgeted with the silverware while Barakas sung and played, and now felt the eyes around the table directed towards him. “Quarian…”
“Beorwyn Broadhammer of Stonebridge,” the short, thick, individual interrupted with a belch while shoveling eggs into his mouth. The few bits of egg and ale that didn’t reach is gaping maw were lodged in his matted beard. He was clad in well maintained chainmail armor and had a hammer with an oversized head strapped to his back. Tufts of clothing stuck out from under the armor that looked gray from wear, mud, and sweat. A hint of a foul order reached Barakas’ nostrils, not enough to cause the food to taste bad, but enough to make Beorwyn’s presence unpleasant to say the least.
“My name is Loraz E’pan and this is Johan, we are from the town of Willowbrook,” the other fair skinned individual with pointed ears said while pointing to empty air beside him. He had opened a small pouch and placed berries and leaves upon his plate, eating each one by one, and had placed a small pile of the food beside his plate. “Johan and I have traveled many miles to join this quest to end the curse that besieges our homeland. Johan, why aren’t you eating? Do you not like Bilberries?”
Ignoring Loraz’s comments to his invisible friend Barakas replied between bites of bacon, “Now seems to be our chance to bring about the end of the punishment our forefathers had put upon us. We should get a move on as soon as we are finished eating. I would hate to see the curse last for another twenty-five years just because we let the month flitter by like a butterfly on the wind.”
By: James Dubeau
The dining area of the Ashlawn Inn was filled with music that morning. In the corner sat a young gentleman who alternated between singing and playing his flute. Dawn light filtered through the windows illuminating his brick red skin and twisted horns. A tail poking out from under his dull red hide armor thumped along in rhythm to the songs.
Over the hills
And through the woods
An adventure shall always find you
Weather on foot
Or sailing seas
An adventure shall always find you
Follow the plea
Against your will
When an adventure comes to find you
For it is not
Every day
That adventure comes and finds you
Smells of eggs and bacon wafted through the Inn as the rest of the adventurers filtered into the dining area. To each the seated man in the corner smiled and did a half bow as he continued to play. As soon as there were four men seated around the table, he finished his last song and proceeded to cross the dining hall. His five foot long tail swished behind him as he walked.
Upon reaching the table the bard spoke and bowed deeply. “My name is Barakas Reverence of Bruskas Crossing. If I am not mistaken, you four must be representatives of the other towns felled with curse.”
The barmaid made her way around the table, placing plates heaping of eggs and bacon in front of each of the men along with pitchers of water, juice, and ale. Working their way around the table, the four men introduced themselves while feasting on the morning meal.
“I am Samel, hailing from the village of Cardinal Glen,” said the tall and stocky purple skinned individual that sat next to Barakas. His priestly robes clinked as he moved, indicating that chainmail armor was worn underneath. “Your music and song would be a great addition to the temple. If only it hadn’t succumbed to that dreadful curse, now the main temple is turning into swampy ruins.”
An extra empty plate sat next to Samel, noticing the questioning look from Barakas he added, “The extra plate is for my god, Hanine. It is only proper to set a place for her, should she ever make her presence known at meal times. A long standing tradition at the temple.
A fair skinned individual sat next to Samel, his dark cloak and hair seemingly framed his pale skin. Pointed ears stuck out from under the mop of hair, still untidy from the nights rest. He fidgeted with the silverware while Barakas sung and played, and now felt the eyes around the table directed towards him. “Quarian…”
“Beorwyn Broadhammer of Stonebridge,” the short, thick, individual interrupted with a belch while shoveling eggs into his mouth. The few bits of egg and ale that didn’t reach is gaping maw were lodged in his matted beard. He was clad in well maintained chainmail armor and had a hammer with an oversized head strapped to his back. Tufts of clothing stuck out from under the armor that looked gray from wear, mud, and sweat. A hint of a foul order reached Barakas’ nostrils, not enough to cause the food to taste bad, but enough to make Beorwyn’s presence unpleasant to say the least.
“My name is Loraz E’pan and this is Johan, we are from the town of Willowbrook,” the other fair skinned individual with pointed ears said while pointing to empty air beside him. He had opened a small pouch and placed berries and leaves upon his plate, eating each one by one, and had placed a small pile of the food beside his plate. “Johan and I have traveled many miles to join this quest to end the curse that besieges our homeland. Johan, why aren’t you eating? Do you not like Bilberries?”
Ignoring Loraz’s comments to his invisible friend Barakas replied between bites of bacon, “Now seems to be our chance to bring about the end of the punishment our forefathers had put upon us. We should get a move on as soon as we are finished eating. I would hate to see the curse last for another twenty-five years just because we let the month flitter by like a butterfly on the wind.”
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