The second of two machinima pieces. More...if and when RL settles down enough for me to play.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Machinima 2
The second of two machinima pieces. More...if and when RL settles down enough for me to play.
Machinima 1
This is the first of two SL Machinima projects I've done, focusing on Midian City. Both make use of a blend of stills and video. Enjoy.
Epithalamium
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
- ee cummings
Carry her, bent, bloody and broken.
Life dripping, spent, spattered on the dust of broken roads and buckled dreams.
Splinter your knuckles on the rough, ragged wood.
Let the soft pillow of her ragdoll charm lie in the cold, and dark!
And when the screaming, scarlet dawn drags its ragged, broken fingers over the eastern sky - listen for the sounds of desperate, stifled agony.
And swim in the lonely, forgotten ocean of her flawlessness.
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
- ee cummings
Carry her, bent, bloody and broken.
Life dripping, spent, spattered on the dust of broken roads and buckled dreams.
Splinter your knuckles on the rough, ragged wood.
Let the soft pillow of her ragdoll charm lie in the cold, and dark!
And when the screaming, scarlet dawn drags its ragged, broken fingers over the eastern sky - listen for the sounds of desperate, stifled agony.
And swim in the lonely, forgotten ocean of her flawlessness.
Coil
Now Rann the Kite brings home the night
That Mang the Bat sets free--
The herds are shut in byre and hut
For loosed till dawn are we.
This is the hour of pride and power,
Talon and tush and claw.
Oh, hear the call!--Good hunting all
That keep the Jungle Law!
-Rudyard Kipling
That Mang the Bat sets free--
The herds are shut in byre and hut
For loosed till dawn are we.
This is the hour of pride and power,
Talon and tush and claw.
Oh, hear the call!--Good hunting all
That keep the Jungle Law!
-Rudyard Kipling
Shifting, midnight rambling. Frozen whispers chip away, chip away, chip away at the frosty edges of conciousness. Desperate pleadings, the soft grunt, pop and scrape of the switchblade shuffle.
But something new is in the air...
Something...familiar.
Sparks dance along myelin, a twitching, itching ripple up the spine.
Overhead, the stars have collapsed. A searing, flickering void, a low, whining keen that causes a resonance in the skull.
Feel it through the subtle shifting of the crumbling concrete.
It. Is a She.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Broken Bridges
We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us., with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that our eyes once watered.
- Tom Stoppard
The creak and shift of splintered wood underfoot is sharpened by the soft, persistent sighing of the wind. Every step is a single day, a memory, a lifetime.
- Tom Stoppard
The creak and shift of splintered wood underfoot is sharpened by the soft, persistent sighing of the wind. Every step is a single day, a memory, a lifetime.
Look down and gaze at the reflections of faces flickering in the slow-moving water. Ripples distort, amplify, evoke.
The soft, glottal sloshing of liquid over stone...echoes of the hiss and spatter of another, crimson river.
Taut, prickly hemp threatens to burn flesh with friction. Its phantom heat, the revenant of dim, helpless struggles.
The smell of distant storms, mixes with the memory of cheap whiskey and the dust of the plains. Heated fumblings with handfulls of flesh, and sweat pooling at the base of the spine.
Motes float suspended in the flickering electric light hung high over an ancient quonset hut. The feel of warm steel and grease on the hands, and the distant lowing murmur of cattle in the paddock.
Her mouth covers your own, filling it with graveyard dirt and peppermints. The film of sweat across the back cools straining shoulders, giving lie to the desperate shuddering beneath the skin.
And the music comes like machine-gun religion, tinny and filled with the screaming static of imaginary angels.
There comes a sudden groan, and a splintering crack...
The azure sky blazes above, a distant, uncaring canvas.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Rangers
And Nuh did certainly call upon Us, and most excellent answerer of prayer are We.
- The Quran
The constant, arrogant susurration of the human cancer is almost lost, here. An almost-forgotten prayer, answered with the soft sigh of the wind.
The green smell of earth, turned, mingles with the slick feel of dew beneth bootheels.
And the hollow, buzz of a twisted voice mixes with a sly whisper.
Emerald promises, slipping with stealth below a flickering sky.
Steal away, with a chestful of something clean.
- The Quran
The constant, arrogant susurration of the human cancer is almost lost, here. An almost-forgotten prayer, answered with the soft sigh of the wind.
The green smell of earth, turned, mingles with the slick feel of dew beneth bootheels.
And the hollow, buzz of a twisted voice mixes with a sly whisper.
Emerald promises, slipping with stealth below a flickering sky.
Steal away, with a chestful of something clean.
Gates
Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
-Kahlil Gibran
A dream turned dark and twisted, shuffling and scraping through the night.
The groan of a rusted hinge, muffled whispering.
And in the distace, the far thunder of forgotten music, drifting like smoke through a wire screen.
Candy-apple nightmares, the stuttering, lonely fear of forgotten children.
And the steady, aching emptiness which comes from realizing you have simply been...
-Kahlil Gibran
A dream turned dark and twisted, shuffling and scraping through the night.
The groan of a rusted hinge, muffled whispering.
And in the distace, the far thunder of forgotten music, drifting like smoke through a wire screen.
Candy-apple nightmares, the stuttering, lonely fear of forgotten children.
And the steady, aching emptiness which comes from realizing you have simply been...
discarded.
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