Mnemosyne...Clearly Edgy

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  1. Quote Originally Posted by EasyEJL View Post
    I left out the rest
    brazillian...or Siamese?????

    dun dun dunnnnnnn
    Evolutionary Muse - Inspire to Evolve
    Flawless Skin Couture - We give you the tools to make you Flawless

  2. Quote Originally Posted by dsade View Post
    post up a teaser and a link to buy, my friend.
    Okay, here's a short excerpt from an 11,400 word story I just sent to Glimmer Train. It's somewhat of a mystery revolving loosely around the Aboriginal concept of dreamtime. It is written out of order, hence the dates.

    August 26th 11:45pm

    -------Jack’s eyes widened, sparkling too just a tad, and if he had known it he would have cast those revealing eyes away.
    -------“Yeah,” he said. “That’s right. I guess I should be expecting the unexpected by now, huh?” He was unaware of his fingers digging through the sand. He was unaware of the off-handed way his thoughts careened through the halls of his brain.
    -------Jacky figured that maybe she had read the man’s vine-tangle of a mind, that she was finally getting somewhere. But Jack’s face suddenly slackened. He stood up.
    -------“Well, huh…” he looked drunken and grasped at the sap-sticky trunk of the Doug Fir for balance. “You know, I’m afraid we can never go back.”
    -------“Go back to what, Jack?” Jacky said. And Jack noticed the over concerned note in the girl’s voice. He also didn’t like sentences that ended with his name (anyone’s name for that matter). It sounds patronizing, he thought. It was the sure sign of a fake or a manipulator. But Jack went on anyways.
    -------“I’m afraid we can’t go back to those bright-lit days.” Jack spoke as he moved back to the table where he kept his personal supplies. And he adjusted the gun tucked in his waistband. It was the first Jacky noticed of it. “Lit,” Jack continued, “as if it was a movie set and 10,000 almost-melting flood lights marked out paths. And we can’t live through memories alone.”
    -------Jacky sat cross-legged, worry knotting up her delicate face, the kind of unmarked naïve face that both pained and exhilarated Jack.
    -------“We can watch them though,” Jack said, gazing all about, apparently watching the beach people, perhaps really watching his dreams. “Endlessly, longingly watch them. We can eat the young ones not yet soured by time.”
    -------Jacky wondered if that meant her. She wondered about the gun too.
    -------Jack yelled at the sky, “isn’t it what we do anyways?”
    -------“For what?” Jacky whispered.
    -------“To make up for our unsatisfactory fits of brooding and stumbling down lost highways,” Jack bared his teeth. “We repeat old and meaningless actions in hopes of relighting the flame,” and his voice dropped. “But what do we do for fuel?”
    -------There were tears in the panicked man’s eyes. Somewhere in his head a damn gave way releasing all those closed-off truths that pile up so readily in the disturbed. The deluge escaped through the corners of Jack’s tired eyes. But he wiped it away and in one fluid motion, unsheathed the gun from the rear waistband of his shorts.
    -------It was a Springfield XD, one of the only guns that can be brought along on a beachfront getaway and remain reliable. Jack reveled in the coolness of the steal, in the weight and enchanting solitude of it. The gun betrayed no secrets, kept perfectly still, perfectly quiet. Its five-inch barrel, .45 caliber, 16-round magazine clunked on the table. But Jack’s hand did not let go.
    -------Thinking was happening; not always a good thing.
    -------Aiming the gun, Jack imagined that there were demons mulling about the beach. He watched them in their leathery skin, smoking nostrils, and razor claws as they played tag. He looked on confused as the demons roasted marshmallows, wove hemp necklaces, and braided one another’s hair. He only knew what he thought them to be. He aimed, saw his bullets fly, saw the limbs and heads of the hellspawn explode in bursts of tar and bile.
    -------Sometimes he pressed the muzzle to his own skull, pressed hard enough to tattoo a small red circle at the bare spot near his temple, pretending he was the demon.
    -------Oh, none of this quite mattered. The beach people were so accustomed with Jack’s role-playing by now that they hardly noticed the gun. They also had faith that the gun was never loaded, that Jack wouldn’t take such a risk with them, his people. They tolerated this insanity because of who Jack was, what he could do, and, having no one else to turn to, they tolerated it for his guidance.
    -------This time though the gun was loaded. Jacky just knew it.
    -------As he once again ground the barrel of the XD to his head, Jack said, “I can’t live by memories alone.” And he shook, trembled hard enough to rattle the table. But it was not out of fear. Nor out of hatred. Nor out of anything in particular. And as he was going limp, going down, in slow motion, he recognized finally the useless and dull repetition of his charade. There were no wellsprings of magic left.
    -------Jack’s gun fell to the sand. And with his head smacking hard on the table, he entered a solid blue pit of a dream.
    MOTIV8 II Challenge
    -=The Big Squirrel Nut Swingers=-

  3. Here's a another one, about 14,000 words, that is in the final stages of completion and is part of a series of shorts:

    The Stink of Death Too Hovers Low Even on Summer Days

    ...and so it did, or it would, most certainly, just hovering there thick and stinky unnoticed by us all, just hovering easily, or however it is that these things come to be, always just happening to occur at the Apex of Summer which is, where I’m from, around the end-time of July, about the same time we all cave-craved a peculiar rawness of life, experience, sex— well, you know.
    Here is the Sun. And here is the day. The kind of day when you hear old infectious one-hit-wonders you really don’t want to hear at all, not now, not at a time like this, but there they are blaring out all the passing cars and you can’t help but hum along—dammitall—the whole while hating yourself for it. The music strikes an inspirational chord and I say:
    “Hey, you guys wanna get some tacos?”
    “Hell yeah! I want some tacos. I got a powerful lust for tacos.”
    “C’mon now, there’s exactly zero time for that.”
    There was to be a party, quintessential, the party to make up for all the wild parties high school failed to deliver us, yes, the party to prove once and for all that movies do not lie, they speak the kind of truths we wait for, long for, the kind of truths that fill empty houses to overflowing with twenty-somethings getting drunk and getting laid, marking territory and just embracing that animal instinct you know you’ll eventually lose to the erasure of coming years.
    Though we ignored crucial details too caught up in fantasies of carnal eros, carnage, chaos or carnivals or what the fuck have you. ‘Cause most of the people attending would no doubt be too intelligent or too insecure, or, as often be the case, a sick twist of both, each recessive character trait feeding and feeding off of the other, (a fact not precluding ourselves), to engage in the level of primality a fading adolescence nourished by Hollywood and caffeine had us rightfully expecting.
    But dammitall the party was pirate themed! How could one resist? How could you not love to hate it? There was myself and there was Ike, a bear sort of a guy, and we both presumed a level of class no amount of money could garnish us with. Pretentious, but more sophisticated than most here because of our heady micro-brews. We were tasting things on this beer of ours, levels of flavor, hierarchies of aroma, complexities that just weren’t there. We did this sipping, being wise. Like owls I suspect. But not Jerome, who we call Jer to spare lazy tongues, no not he with that there fifth of rum from nobody-know-where-it-came-from emblazoned with the dammitall Jolly Roger fat and smack-dab on the front label.
    So how it goes is this: we pull up to the house seeing no other cars—****—and Ike drives this SUV, this is back when Bush Jr. was still pres. so not such a big deal yet, global warming and SUVs that is, and Ike drives the one where the factory tires all blew up to SUV flip-flip-flip to people dying to Bridgestone or Firestone or whatever-the-**** scandal breaking news everywhere and in this day and age with gas prices and war where it’s at driving an SUV is just plain and simple— but you tune that out.
    Ike pulls out his cell phone, tosses it to me. Click: I’m calling the hostess, “Hello,” I say. “We’re here, early I guess.”
    She says, “You guys are early.” As if I hadn’t already said it. And boy is she sounding excitable.
    “Umm, right.”
    “Just come in then.”
    Click: phone meet pocket.
    SUV doors open and slam. The day burns with hard-on beauty, rods of blue sky solder a shortcut nerve-route from retina bypassing brainstem and direct linking heartstem. That’s the kind of day it is. With evergreen conifers doing backflips for the Sun breaking white light into leopard spots forever and ever and ever and just ****ing ever.
    Our hostess opens the front door and I’m thinking towards her two-sizes-too-small shirt that maybe I ought to milk her, maybe I ought to suckle at those mammaries. Her name, by the by, is Maia. In case you cared. And her nipples just barely perk out from under that teeny green shirt she’s got on vac-sucked to her body, they just sorta stand and salute and shine like twin North Stars beckoning wise men to salvation. Oh how I must be wise!
    “Hiii-iiii-eee,” she cries out, a banshee. I’m in love.
    Jer gives me a sideways glance, that look, that certain peering that comes after knowing someone most of your life, after living with them too, and doing definitely too much together, and I just know he’s reading my mind.
    Maia looks at the three of us with eye flicks pop-pop-pop but mostly and squarely, this I do know, she looks at me, appraises up down, and squarely again into my greenish eyes and oh the intensity of it when suddenly she goes flippant as she’s apt to do taking on something of a duck characteristic, the kind of duck in a pond who languidly swims out from you sure just so sure (rightly so) that you’ll never jump into that dirty mucky cold and shallow pond to get it— so the duck paddles and quacks which certainly is not any kind of a metaphor for my relationship with Maia.
    “Come on in, fellas,” she turns flippantly. She uses the word fellas.
    Jer, still reading my mind, fondles his rum.
    Ike finds a place to begin drinking. Not that he hasn’t been drinking this whole time, he’s just been standing up. It’s a rule of his that drinking doesn’t officially start until one is seated. No party to speak of so far but Ike never really needed a reason to drink. He uncorks something Belgian, expensive, as it should be being corked beer and all, takes the bottle by the neck, wrings it, chokes it in a boulder of a fist, and takes the tiny lips of that green bottle straight to the face. No one notices how the back label describes proper pouring technique. No need.
    MOTIV8 II Challenge
    -=The Big Squirrel Nut Swingers=-

  4. Looks good, have an interesting style. Good luck!

    UPDATE: We all know how hard it is to objectively measure enhancement. I picked up one of those mini Acer laptops for travel (and for checking quick things while lying in bed.) The keys are laced weirdly and are smaller than regular laptop keys. I had been spending more time backspacing than typing real words. Within the last few days, my accuracy and speed have increased dramatically.
    Evolutionary Muse - Inspire to Evolve
    Flawless Skin Couture - We give you the tools to make you Flawless

  5. Quote Originally Posted by Aeternitatis View Post
    Here's a another one, about 14,000 words, that is in the final stages of completion and is part of a series of shorts:
    Who is this "Ike" character?
    Product Educator | USPowders
    Statements made by this online persona are the sole property of the owner, and do not necessarily reflect USPowders’ opinion as a whole.

  6. what was this thread about? I forgot already

  7. Quote Originally Posted by EasyEJL View Post
    what was this thread about? I forgot already
    It's about your head!
    MOTIV8 II Challenge
    -=The Big Squirrel Nut Swingers=-

  8. More to come gezzzz i want this too! lol..

    I can test? I have adrenal stress... basically stims dont really work on me, but i have played around with bulk ALCAR & many others.

  9. Quote Originally Posted by AdelV View Post
    More to come gezzzz i want this too! lol..

    I can test? I have adrenal stress... basically stims dont really work on me, but i have played around with bulk ALCAR & many others.
    No stims....stims can be added at your discretion, but they can't be taken away.
    Evolutionary Muse - Inspire to Evolve
    Flawless Skin Couture - We give you the tools to make you Flawless

  10. Quote Originally Posted by dsade View Post
    No stims....stims can be added at your discretion, but they can't be taken away.
    No, I don't want stims!!!

    I don't take them, im just saying they don't do anything Id rather non stim anyday!

  11. Quote Originally Posted by AdelV View Post
    No, I don't want stims!!!

    I don't take them, im just saying they don't do anything Id rather non stim anyday!
    If you look at my formulas, with the exception of LOCALIZED caffeine in Atomic Meltdown and Eviscerate, and the obvious STIM of ThermoGum, I do not tend to include it.

    As mentioned, caffeine is cheap and readily available IF you choose to add it. I avoid it in my formulas, though, because then it leaves the choice up to you.
    Evolutionary Muse - Inspire to Evolve
    Flawless Skin Couture - We give you the tools to make you Flawless

  12. dsade, I'm either staring at monitors all day long, or using my wiles to c*ck-block paparazzi chasing my client, avoid camera phones, and keep her safe from bodily harm. Stims make me piss, and many times I simply don't have that luxury. So a non-piss making boost would be awesome. I could test it out in judo, too. Judo after 10-12 hours of work is harder than, say, judo after a nap. I've found that my performance with caffeine and vinpocetine is significantly better than my performance without (and by performance I mean mental; judo takes intuition, feeling, coordination, agility, all things that are in short supply when tired).

  13. Any update? Need me some of this, at working programming 8hrs a day, and now at home programming for a side venture for several more hours. My brain might explode.

    Liked the old one, but had to dose pretty high for a good effect (5-6)


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