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Walking up the ramp to the bridge over the Danshui river, I saw a man in a white long sleeve shirt with a red fishing rod that was at least three meters across in his gloved hands. He was standing at the corner of the spillway and the river’s edge. Slowly coming up the spillway
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(out of character goggles)- This is an attempt at writing an epic poem from my last DnD session. You can read a little about that on the other post here. It’s in iambic pentameter, though some of the iambs are backwards. And lo, Raugar took to the Inn, Plain Sight.In a corner sat a weary
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The bus is so crowdedOld ladies and businessmen going about their days and allIt’s standing room only in hereAnd each time the door opensA colorful tide of people press their way onEach of us repeatedly strugglingto adjust to our new realitiesThe line of schoolchildren and their backpacksThe young father who doesn’t know his strolleris parked
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The olden times I’ve been in and out of love with Dungeons and Dragons since I was first introduced with it allllll the way back around 2004. In love because it’s just so much fun; out of love because I periodically get tired of the old tropes and want to engage in some other types
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Why is it I am always the seaand you are always the moon? and for that matter, who is the manwatching the flocculent cloudsfloat by on rippling tidal pools? is it my opulence, my steadfast mightcrashing against these shores as the eons pass? is it your control over me, my morning and night? is it
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the very first thing I want to sayis how fucking dare youI still clearly recallthe anchovy pizzaand the lemon mint smoke rolling from your nostrils like a dragonjust days before it happened All their heads hung low, silhouettedbacklit by the bright lights of the stoop“did you hear” in a somber tone who is gonna care
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that new year’s eveafter catching a late moviewe had ourselves a knife fightin the parking lot of that old diner we somehow both manageddespite our roller skates and empty champagne bottlesto strike some deep cuts passersby, ex lovers, mutual friends, helleven the poor folks on that softball teamweren’t safe from our flurry of blades at
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You keep asking meThe wrong guy, might I addWhat it is you saidWithout even sparing the thoughtThat he’s worried of slipping intoyour event horizonWhile the rest of us drift around your smoldering accretion diskHaunted by your orphansOur simple minds still wrestlingwith the non-Euclidean qualiaof how you curve spacetimeGobbling up the fading lightof his frozen youthful
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I’ve been back in Taiwan for three whole weeks now, my teaching schedule has resumed normality, and so has my schedule of attending class and doing homework. It’s taken me, well, three whole weeks to catch up to all of that. I’d started playing the violin about two years ago now, I took lessons, watched
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Are you ever taking a leak as jazzy elevator music floats by, thinking about time or space, or how they’re the same thing And suddenly you remember everything- the music, your mom, TV newsmen, even the headlights on northbound trains are all just waves? All of it, I mean all of it barely perceptible excitations
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Stuff Cam Wrote 