:: Porkchop Serum ::

:: Thursday, October 21, 2004 ::

Nah. See may 26 if my new piece seems crafted from nowhere.. My characters were born earlier.

:: sandy 1:46 AM [+] ::
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I can't find anything that I'd like to write about. My scribe always writes the interesting stuff in invisible ink.

My younger self is pummeling my current self. Pre-pubescent Porkchop Serum contains some wonderous short works written by both you and I. I found this deep within, a village elder's words scribbled on a friend's hyde:

You've all missed the POINT!! No one wants read what you Grandma said today or who's house you threw up at this weekend. This is a chance to crack open your brain and let the word gaze in. Let them poke and squeeze and rearrange. Shine at with lights and pelt with stones. Mizzy: a new task for us. Dream documentation, expansion and development. Lets go deep and find that hidden aquifer that flows between all of us.

Here's something for the new.:


Stupid Tulip stumbled upon some forest opium, I guess. I spent all morning chasing him west over hills that contains empty cave-homes, long since vacated for the promise of Babylon.

I never believed the rumors, the mutterings and hysterical blabberings of a land of fantastic opportunity. Wealth and prosperity, debauchery and placidity. Misery well, I imagine. The sickly sweet blood of humankind diluted the blood of a sizeable portion of these people. Perhaps thats what drove them to crack open their nest eggs and march thousands of miles to the East, following after nothing else but a cragged line of peaks, mere knifepoints at this distance.

"Besmirch my honor?! Never!" Tulip chased the invisible over a hilltop without me noticing. I was still lost in historical meanderings when I heard a loud, frightened snort. I gave him no mind. He probably came across an imaginary pig roast or something. I shouldered my axe and stomped my way up to the top of a deep green, moss covered hill, common to this area. What I saw stretched out below me made my stomach flip. I squeezed down hard on my axe's handlegrip, the leather complaining in its unique way.


(see may 26)

:: sandy 10:27 PM [+] ::
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