14.11.09

been a while

And a lot has happened.

Funny though that the thing which initially kept me away from this blog--acads--is bringing me back. Plurk has kept me away, too, but that's also my acads' fault: if you've been writing a lot of pretty long stuff (fine, not that long, but at least more than 140 characters) on demand because of school, you'd appreciate the short form of Plurk. But that's not to say Plurk is lesser; it's just the practice of brevity, something that's pretty much treasured in my course and I generally feel comfortable with now (see: mother's sabaw moments).

I did miss the longer form of the blog post, during times when lengthy arguments were necessary, when there are (quite deviant) points to be made. Plurk's easy reply system cuts lengthy arguments in odd places, with too many other people replying at the same time to said plurk.

That said, I'm returning for my thesis. Muse on a Moodswing will work in a way similar to a devblog for the game that I'm currently working on. The game, tentatively titled Project 1, is based on a writing exercise from my CW141 (Creative Nonfiction 2) class. Platform, of course, will be the PC; ever the scriptkiddy, I'll be using RPG Maker XP to build the game. Blog will be updated at least once a week.

For now, a screenshot from Project1:
Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

QuickPost Quickpost this image to Myspace, Digg, Facebook, and others!

8.2.09

grappling with air and fish

Haiku

Grappling with air, the

Fish just out of water swim
'Cross plastic valleys.

----------------------------------
Couplets

Grappling---the thoughts

fluttering still,

Within captured
essence, silent

Air. We hang still
like marionettes.

--------------------------
Villanelle


The table, empty and clean.
The boss, still not risen up from bed.
She asks: What do you mean?

Cloth, white to the seams.
The fish, finished up to the head.
The table, empty and clean.

You, ordered: polish 'til it gleams.
The daughter has, instead of him, broken bread.
She asks: What do you mean?

You didn't dare interrupt as you think he dreams.
But she insists, and there had to be led.
The table, empty and clean.

'Tis not good, she deems,
As you echo her dread.
She asks: What do you mean?

Nothing is what it seems.
The patriarch, now dead.
The table, empty and clean.
She asks: What do you mean?