Below are the 13 most recent journal entries recorded in zenobian's LiveJournal:

Monday, January 9th, 2006
4:07 pm	Plebian Politics - Take#1 Canada. I could laugh at them for having such a screwy candidates to choose for prime minister. Then again, "them" also happens to be us, and "us" happens to include me. I'll laugh anyway. Simply because I'm me. WARNING: The following facts may be distorted due to media influence. Oh, and it's a rant. The Liberals have been running the country for 10-13 years now. And the headlines on the newspaper today was: Martin Bashes Tories Deficit Plan, or something along those lines (Okay, so this doesn't really correlate with the previous sentence, but what the heck, I feel like I've been stretched too taut with the current government, and therefore have this really good reason to act irrational.) Heh. At least the Tories have a plan, which I can't really say for Martin and his bag of hot air. Hydrogen might look impressive on a blimp, but after a little prick it all goes flat, and all the little men in suits run wailing for cover. Medicare. What's wrong with the word? Nothing, of course, except that it doesn't really seem to have anything to do at all with the other provinces apart from Ontario. Somehow, that accursed molehill's been turned into a mountain, causing Layton to glee like a giddy schoolgirl--because he can blab about his favorite topic--and Harper and Martin to, well, bicker. (And if they haven't started bickering yet, just watch and wait. It'll pop up like the proverbial imp.) I don't see people wringing their hands in BC or Quebec. I don't see limbs falling off people. (If the former and latter are true, then I see dead people & apologies all around.) However, most of the people complaining about medicare appear to be from right here. Ontario. Doesn't that problem then devolve to Mr. McGuilty? Then again, people can always follow the shining example of Alberta, a province that just happens to have quite a surplus. Now, I don't envy them the wealth, but why can't we copy them outright? The best thing to do with medicare at this moment is reorganize the bloody thing, not flush it with more money. Yes, Martin wants to flush money. Um, can he be less vague and have a general outline just what to do with that money? Um, no. Bloody hell. Onto our wonderful military. Canadians like to talk about the glorious days when we took Vimy Ridge, beat the crap out of the Germans in the Netherlands, and impressed involuntary liptosuction--is that how you spell it? Oh well--on that fat bastard in Italy. Unfortunately, our military is in various states of disrepair. It's not the fault of the troops, of course. Can't fault them on how well they've managed on second-rate material. Fact is, we can do better. But nooo, we have to have Seakings that, contrary to the name, crash off the throne and flop into the drink the instant they fly. (Actually, this doesn't surprise me. Canadian troops have always been screwed by the higher ups. What was the name of that redundant rifle used in WWI? And the supersonic interceptor aircraft which Diefenbaker sunk in the Great Lakes?) Harper says he might do something about it. Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Who knows, with these idiotical politicians. Current Mood: amused Current Music: Trance - Enjoy The Silence (Comment on this)
Thursday, December 15th, 2005
4:18 pm	Busted! First things first. Having failed to complete NaNo, I shall lock myself in a virtual dungeon, eat the key, and putrefy for the last two weeks of December. Maybe something good will come out of it. Had an out to launch contest two days ago. Fired a 3-cm diameter alunimum pellet, nearly hit the instructor, and almost hit the bagel and shaving cream target. I must nag a certain friend for the pictures. In any case, I've been busy in more than school or writing. Another MQ preview:   Computer's second h-drive crashed--again! All my work lost. I don't know why, but I keep getting .sys errors before the crashes. Not to mention that it keeps acting on-again off-again on me. One moment all the nice little bytes are there, the next--poof! There might be something wrong with the thingamajiggy connections between drive and 'board. Apart from that minor catastrophe, everything is moving according to chaos. Current Mood: hyper Current Music: DJ Tiesto - Sounds Rushing (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 9th, 2005
4:19 pm	Running Late Wow. I've procrastinated to the point that I'm pretty far behind in NaNo. So far behind that, over the course of it, I've written about 7k words--for a different story. It's for Astounding, entitled as "Soldier of Eden". Here's a snip: Mitochondria. The powerhouse of the cell's energy source, an almost separate entity living within the cells of fauna, flora, fungi and protozoa. They came in different shapes and sizes, each hosting a respectable power-plant enclosed within two layers of membrane a few nanometers across. And they were the very reason why an imitation velociraptor was attempting to pry loose one Carl Hugo Thomson, B-Level Agent of GeonForce, from the relative safety of his rocky precipice. "When will you give up?" Picking up a stone, he flung it down at his aggressor. He might as well have not thrown it; dodging the projectile only made it hiss a challenge. "Can't you see that I'm all skin and bones? Surely there must be some nice, fat bovine-type animal more tasty than me behind those bushes." A snapping of jaws and a scrabbling of footclaws on crumbly shale was his answer. Yellow eyes, gleaming with feral hunger, gazed up at untouchable prey. Carl didn't like how they burned with that deadly gleam, or how it continued to salivate. It drooled worse than a Cerebusian pit bull. In a blur of blacks and dappled reds, it slammed against the cliff wall. A shower of loose earth and gravel cascaded down like stony rain. The ledge set to trembling under that ferocious blow. Again it ran back to the forest's edge, and proceeded to submit the cliff to pounding rams. When that didn't work, it changed tactics again. Carl couldn't believe the dino's stamina. It didn't even look half-winded. It drew back towards the clearing now, and was charging again, but this time-- Carl's eyes widened. "My God!" Coupled with momentum, inertia, and a swift vertical thrust against earth, the raptor became airborne. Talons rending the air apart in triumph, it actually looked like it was going to make it-- Gravity came calling, smashing the monster against the cliff. "What, you're not dead yet?!" he exclaimed, the raptor shaking itself free from its slump. Gaping, sharp incisors swore that it would get him. But the blow it gained seemed to slow it after all, for the next round of aerobatics was more half-hearted in nature. Snarling, it gave one last burst of speed that raised the agent's hair before gravity took a decisive hold, slamming it down for futility. "Thank God," murmured Carl, the raptor slinking off into the undergrowth. Like everything else in this accursed jungle, it needed food and it needed it fast. Odin was not a merciful planet, for all that imported life from Terra flourished here. Plenty of time was wasted on him that left it even more voracious, but if the damn thing had any brains it should had left long ago. Then again, it was probably better it couldn't think past the next meal. He'd never seen one move that fast, or had half the stamina it exuded. GeonForce had high expectations of their agents. They trained them to be bright, resilient, and properly motivated to do odd, dangerous jobs that could curl the chest-hairs of his Majesty. But Carl needed no more motivation when that beast burst from cover. He reckoned he set a new record for improvisation after climbing up the nearest fern, then allowing gravity to bend it at will, jumped onto the low rock platform offered by this mudball planet. Back to work, he thought, gingerly searching for footholds and finding none going down. He did find plenty of handholds going up, and once he thoroughly cursed Murphy as an evil and sadistic god, started to scale the cliff. He'd gone no farther than a few decimeters when a tinny buzz sounded off. Growling, he landed back on the ledge and palmed the tiny 'no-phone clipped to his vest. "Hello?" "Good afternoon, sir," answered a foxy, feminine voice. "I am Delia Sanchez, a representative for the weekly Sleipnir contest. Would you like a night out for two at Drasil Theatre?" Odin was a relatively new world with a medium population of four-point-two million. Nonetheless, it trafficked a highly unusual amount of informational offers. Plainly put, spam. Carl often wondered why the commercial satellites didn’t fall into the atmosphere; the clutter of data being passed back and forth ate up plenty of bandwidth. Like a hog, it should have rightly crashed and burned, but the laws of gravity seemed to bypass it. To GeonForce operatives, it was a marvelous cover. Still, dating his superior officer was hardly exemplary, Carl thought. And one never knew who might be listening. Joy. "Ah, what? Who did you say you where from again?" "Sleipnir Org, sir. We host contests in the capital Valhalla by randomly picking people off the registered civilian list. Haven't you heard of us before?" "Sorry, I just arrived planetside two days ago," he admitted. That by itself was true, and so was the bit about Sleipnir Org. But if they were asking about it now so early into the operation--"A night for two at--Drasil Theatre, was it? What’s being shown?" "Loki's Vengeance," replied Delia. Carl cursed. And cursed again, realizing just exactly what that meant. "I'm afraid I have to decline your offer, Ms. Sanchez. I've no interest in watching a bunch of bloodthirsty Vikings smashing hammers at each other to death." Colonel Delia was, if it weren't true before, a wonderful actress. Pleading: "Oh, but surely you don't mean to refuse?" "I do," he answered firmly. "Good day, sir." She shut off with a click. "Loki," he muttered, running a hand through curly black hair. Barely seventy-two hours since insertion, and already two operatives were lost! What the hell had happened to Mandy and Waldo? Either they had blown their cover, or they were laying low. Then again, the only way for an organic implant lodged in a human cranium to have suddenly 'ghosted' off the radar... "Damn and blast," he muttered again, pocketing the 'no-phone. Well, he was the last. Carl didn't like being the last. On a day like this, that surely meant his enemies were closing the net about him. But he wasn't about to go calling for help. Delia would refuse to abort the mission if there was even a bug's chance in a decon room of completing it. If only he had remained with the tour guide, he might have gotten a clue as to what was going on. He had excused himself discreetly and gone out a side entrance, as per orders, after all. One of his objectives was to look for anything fishy outside the facility. If he had stayed, if he had not gotten so deep into what he had been sure was a vast greenhouse garden-- Yet asking 'if' was not going to get him anywhere. Resolute, he explored all options as he returned to grappling with the cliff. First, he needed to get back inside Fion Labs. He did know it was mainly an underground installation, but he hadn't expected its outer premises to retain plenty of wildlife. Thus the reason for wandering like a lost monkey. Chances were that, once he cleared the cliff, there might be an entrance down into the labs. Current Mood: crazy Current Music: 4 Strings - Turn It Around (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 1st, 2005
8:16 am	1st Day of NaNo: 930 words Argh! I look onsite via nanowrimo.org and already people have something like 3 to 5k words! I have plenty to catch up on today. Maybe if I type up that 5k while at school... Nah. Physics is more important than NaNo--no, it ain't, unless I find FTL travel along the way. (Pardon me while I contradict myself.) Here's a short excerpt on what I've writ so far: A Knight Of Demons Chapter 1 Fire. It spread everywhere, creeping out from boiling lances of magma shooting out cracked earth. Devouring everything in its path, trees burned down to charred ashes as sparks caught hold and grew. With the fiery rage of elemental heat, blossoming up like black mushrooms, toxic clouds of smoke rose up to a graying sky. Ashes swirling in the wind settled and sifted like drifting sand, blanketing out towards a shattered land. Where once a land bloomed with hard-earned labor, only the slag remnants of half-melted war chariots seeded the plains. Taurius Valley, blessed gate into the realm of gods and devils, was no more. * * * "Here, Dunert! I think this one's still alive." Struggling up on his good leg, a tall, hook-nosed man hobbled to a stout, red-faced man attempting to lift a crumpled tent-pole. The job would have been easier if the pole wasn't made of solid silver, but sidling up to his brother, Dunert helped carry the beam anyway. The chance of finding a survivor was worth more than the riches stocking this abandoned camp. "There, Garamon." Dusting his hands, Dunert peered forward. "Who did you find?" "See for yourself." Pulling aside a scrap of canvas revealed a mass of midnight black hair. A body, curling into a fetal ball. "A child," hissed Dunert, kneeling down to gently touch a tiny shoulder. Trying not to wince, he kept from applying too much weight on his lame left leg. Hands parting the hair further showed high cheekbones gracing a pale, blue-skinned face. Drawing the hand back, as though bitten by something poisonous, he rose up. "Looks dead, she is." "No, brother," disagreed Garamon. Chainmail clinked in seeming disapproval as he stooped down, pointing to the faint rise and fall of downy hair. "Can't you see? That's breathing, that is. She's a kishan girl by her looks. Blue skin, small build, black hair--they don't change hair-color till they're of age." "I'll have nothing to do with them," snarled his brother. In what little light filtering in from the half-fallen tent, he looked more like an avenging raven out of myth. "Haven't you heard how they turned tail and ran in the middle of the battle, a few moments before that bastard blew up the pillars? Cowardice we can't abide, brother." "If they were cowards as you say so," replied Garamon with pondering slowness, "then why leave their camp this quickly? Why leave their women and children at the mercy of the enemy? At our mercy, if you think on it that way. Out there in the battlefield, when everything's going wrong, a man's first thought is his family if he's got one in camp." Silence gave pause to his brother's fury. Dunert always was the more hotheaded between them, prone to quick action and even swifter regrets. Gaining a wound in a skirmish hadn't even slowed him down much; he stumped about with that wooden leg like it was still his old foot. Not his fault he was fire-tempered, as that came about with being the youngest child out of the brood. A brood of two now, the family having died fighting the barbarian host. Fighting back a dwelling sense of emptiness, Garamon concentrated his attention on the child. She was lucky the beam had fallen haphazardly, the fall dampened by the thick, stiff wool that served for tent canvas among them. The least was likely a minor concussion, but until they got her to Hanna-- Dunert's raspy voice cut through his thoughts. "Then where have they gone, brother? Why leave in the middle of the fight?" "I'd like to know as much as you," he murmured. Shaking himself, he inserted his arms under the girl and lifted her effortlessly, cradling her head with care between pudgy, if callused, fingers. After that silver beam, anything would be easy. "Come on, we've searched our portion of the camp. There's nothing else here but for the looters." Dryly: "Unless you'd like to carry that benighted pole back with us." Together, the Dilheart brothers moved out into the light. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, October 31st, 2005
3:07 pm	8 hours and 10 minutes till NaNo NaNo's almost here--and I'm barely ready to write! I can't find my music folder, some bugger stole all my chocolate, and I'm all out of-- I'm a trance addict, y'see. I cannot write without a full dose of fatal femme vocals singing in the background. Ooh, found it! Here's a brief story summary for NaNoWriMo: War. It brings out the best and the worst in people. It creates chaos and horror. And, when it leaves, the remains are cast in turmoil. As the mage wars rage throughout Manakia, a child of the demons is cast and abandoned in the scene of the final battle. Two brothers, seeking redemption for the terrors that haunt their nightmares, raise the child as their own as the winners turn themselves into gods.   One decade later, the child has grown--and is abandoned yet again. Civil war has driven children to strike out for their own, and so she joins an exodus of five hundred racing against a horde hot in pursuit. Just to make things worse, a goddess and her avatars are slain, blood corrupted to sow forth disease. Current Mood: hyper Current Music: Novaspace - Tears in May (Comment on this)
Monday, October 24th, 2005
4:02 pm	Magiquest - Transitions & Troubles Magiquest. An online rpg in the making, it's been in development for 3 years now. Now if only the same could be said for pixel art. The best way has always been through a paint program like MsPaint. Now, if only the bloody thing could do everything else Photoshop could do. There's the Gimp, but I'm too lazy to try and install it. I've great respect for those Japanese developers that made games like Chrono Trigger, Secret of Mana, Bahamut Lagoon, etc. They're always been good with pixel art, especially where transitions are concerned. They make it look so easy to actually develop the right patterns to tweak their grasses, make their rocks look like--well, rocks. Then there's their sprites. I mean, how did they make those big sexy pictures of Chun-Li in Marvel Vs. Capcom, or animate 'em to look so damned good? So far, my level is only beginner-intermediate. And the only way I'm going to advance is if somebody hits me with a metaphorical hammer. Current Mood: drained Current Music: Pulsedriver - Vagabonds (Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 18th, 2005
6:58 pm	Leprechauns Cluricauns & Puihkas Baen's planning to publish a magazine crammed with science fiction & fantasy stories. Okay, so the first publication might be next June, but here's one way to get known as an author. Short stories the norm, 10k words maximum I'm guessing, and submission's currently through posting in Baen's Bar via Astounding Slush. Feedback's via Astounding Slush Comments. However, the longer the story the less chance there is to publish, for mentioned somewhere was the word limit of 100k in the magazine. Several other authors are on it--including the likes of Eric Flint and David Drake--and the chances of a soon-to-be author getting published would probably become astronomical by each passing month. Why? Well, there's a ton of aspiring writers that will not expire in their mad quest to get their story out in print. I'm bold but I'm not crazy. Still participating, though. I even got a workable plot going--woo-hoo!--and all that needs to be done is churn out at least 8k words on this. Yup, it involves the related title overhead.   (Oh yes, and Jim Snover is a crazy #$%@&. How can the man keep on churning out all those wunnerful inventions?) Current Mood: contemplative Current Music: Mandalay - Beautiful (Sonix Outro Remix) (Comment on this)
Sunday, October 16th, 2005
12:07 am	Curses! Methinks our portable dvd player can't play DivX files. So much for watching anime... Bah. I'm sure there's a way around it. How to hardwire an Insignia portable to play ille--ahem--procured files in five easy steps... Progress for Magiquest has been slow on the graphics side. As the only pixel artist available, and woefully limited to sprites, its not a wonder that the graphics leave something to be desired, especially when Tanish1 has progressed so far in the programming department. And if there were two of me--one to go to school, one to stay home--I'd find the time to revamp all the teensy little monsters scurrying ingame. A toast to my sluggishness. May I always crawl to the finish line. Current Mood: discontent (Comment on this)
Thursday, October 13th, 2005
6:02 pm	Jack be nimble, Jack be quick... Got about 70k words now for This Nimble Jack, and boy is it rising. Maybe by the end of this month it'll be finished. As for the theme, I think I'll be using revolution, and all the pros and cons of overthrowing Galduria's current government and all that rot. One side will argue that radical action doesn't solve anything, while the other side--the mutineers in the story--insist that its the only way to set things right, especially when the ruling class appears oppressive in their eyes. What a messed up planet. Amor, I mean. It began when the Solarian Emperor sent out a colony-ship crammed with what he considered radicals and convicts--with just a sprinkling of right-minded groups--to the lonely star of Ibiza. He sent along everyone that would likely try to topple his seat on Earth. Along with them are their keepers the Guardians, and just to play it safe, two companies of Solarian Marine Elites. Unforunately, they hadn't counted on one madman finishing the prototype to a xenomorphic machine. After overpowering the SMEs and the Guardians--not to mention turning the captain into a goose that lays golden eggs--the radicals proceeded to "do things right this time" on Amor. Now the bloody fawkin' place is crammed with mythological beasties, ranging from leprechauns to sprites to giants, and not one of them remembers their origin. That's the world of Jack Nimble. 'Tis fantasy, as I'm not educated in physics enough yet to consider writing science fiction, as Charles Sheffield puts it. Current Mood: cheerful Current Music: Xenosaga: Battle of Elsa (Comment on this)
8:03 am	Gotcha! I finally got that plot outline for nano going. I think I'm going to cheat--a bit--and use it to finish off Mirth, Girth, & Rebirth. I haven't actually started past the 15k word mark, and I'll be picking up from there. I don't know why I keep on postponing to write. I mean, I do have other things to do, but it had never been such that I couldn't write at least 5k of words in a day. There was a time--two, three years ago--when I could just leap straight in and type like mad. Of course, that lead to certain aches in the wrist, and I slowed down a wee bit. Then too, after reading my mad scribbles, it either: a) didn't make much sense b) too skeletal and in need of fleshing c) too ridiculous. Meh. Got a few more weeks till nano starts. Maybe by then the entire horde will decide to participate. The next Jack story consists of giants, wyverns, and the three wise men. Not the Bible version of the magi, but the rhyme. Jack & company's going to be exploring the entire continent now--up to and including the clouded land of Sifr. Current Mood: chipper Current Music: Dj Doboy - Marvellous (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 11th, 2005
10:27 pm	Drained...again! Oh, someone please bash me with a pillow. Now I'm certain that English is best used for sleep therapy. I certainly finished up most of my notes for Fifth Business. What a dry book. If it were a well in a desert, it wouldn't hold a single drop of water. Robertson Davies might be an acclaimed writer--and Canadian to boot--but his style of writing is all too often a turn off. While seeded with humor, what in hell could interest me in following the fictional life of a man? And the cover--yechhh--really, really needs fixing. Okay, I might be getting spoiled by Baen's illustrators, but what sort of appeal is a fist, a hook, a stone? Must find sleep. Current Mood: rushed Current Music: Star Ocean II ST: Dynamite (Comment on this)
7:56 am	So sleepy... How can eight hours of sleep feel so draining? Up till twelve conjuring plots for nanowrimo. Unfortunately, my body feels like insisting as though I slept only 30 minutes ago. Even with coffee or an extra round of breakfast has failed to wake me up. Maybe if I shock myself awake with some trance music... Naw. I'll end up being bouncy all day. In any case, I think I know what I'm going to do. For nano, that is. The rest of the gang is undecided, but I do know that Miggy is one who'll write it. I would as well--as soon as I come up with a plot outline and a good story idea, not to mention a rousing theme to go with it. Yawn. To school, me. Current Mood: exhausted (Comment on this)
Saturday, October 8th, 2005
1:21 am	First things first... This is a 2nd account. Now, I can hardly be faulted for that. I mean, how the blazes am I supposed to remember the first one, what with the bombardment of procrastination and anime movies that preoccupied my mind some, oh, two or three months ago? Well, let's say that this is my first official post. And, having no friends around here just yet, I'm going to raise a toast to myself for this belated accomplishment. Cheers! Current Mood: amused Current Music: Doboy Trancequility Volume 32 (Comment on this)