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Untitled…I guess. August 2, 2007

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“How are you doing,” my mother back on Triton would sometimes ask me. I’d reply, “I’m doing a classic study in quiet desperation, or a quiet study in classic desperation.” After all, it’s really the same thing. “I miss you.”From the journal of Cyan Lianas, Col. Commander Tritonian Guard, IY 1437

Ok, it’s me again. I’m not writing about a fictional empire set in a technologically advanced future this time. Just me in the here and now. I thought I’d check in and give up an update.

It’s raining outside…a lot.

Work’s going relatively well, I just met with two nice ladies from a managed home healthcare program here in Abilene that think television advertising is just the thing to get the word out about the services they offer to the old and unhealthy. I agree with them and suggest they invest in some web advertising to reach the younger audiences that are in a position to seek help for their elderly relatives.


So I’ve got three clients now that are on the books back at the station, which means I can breath a sigh of relief, after all “…a salesman’s only worth the numbers he can bring into the office,” I’m told. As though it really means anything about the person because it of course doesn’t. Anything above zero makes my hire a worthwhile endeavor…I guess. Commodities and futures if you ask me.

Speaking of worthwhile endeavors, I’ve been reading a lot of Kurt Vonnegut lately. It’s something to do to pass the time, but I find myself attracted to the serious humor underlying the themes of his books; his commentary on American life in this post-modern world. His science-fiction undercurrent helps to ease me into this genre of storytelling since this time last week I was finishing up an ongoing series chronicling the cyclilcal nature of power, betrayal and war…set “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.” I went from Star Wars to Schlactenhauf Fünf, or Slaughterhouse Five in less than eighteen hours, talk about culture shock. Lightsabers and the Force to atom bombs and Allied Powers in less than a day. To be honest, the difference is almost negligible from a studied perspective.

I’m supplementing my daily Vonnegutian regiment with tales of Marvel’s recently-ended Civil War series, which I refused to buy as a real comics event and am now enjoying after the fact as a Trade Paperback investment. Hey, it’s all political commentary if you ask me. You see in Civil War, there’s a piece of passed legislation called the “Superhuman Registration Act.” which was supposed to remedy the poison of an accidental explosion killing about 612 innocents in Stamford, Connecticut by a group of poorly trained hero wannabe’s attempt to take down a group of supervillains trying to get by in obscurity there. Public outcry prompted congress to propose that all cape and maskers reveal their identity to the federal government and submit to formal training like Black Ops specialist or something like that by the stroke of midnight on a specific registration day. At 12:00:01, ante meridian all unregistered heroes would become enemy combabtants in their own country.

Sound familiar? It’s all political commentary of course if you ask me. Families are split because of the act, super teams like the Avengers are undermined by the lack of support of roughly half the current members and there you have it: a civil war of super hero scale complete with slogans like “disagreement is not disloyalty,” and “…not my country.”

It’s still raining outside. Whatever.

Jacen Solo, the little-publicized fictional son of Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher, aka Han and Leia Solo, became a monster comparable to his grandfather, the esteemed Lord Vader in only five books. It all started with a desire to bring order to a chaotic Galactic Alliance, the GA; and his belief in an idea of Absolutes. It continued with the development and implementation of a not-too-Secret Police to round up a group of dissenters suspected of terrorist action taken on Coruscant (the capitol planet of the GA.) Jacen Solo was its director. Let it be said that they weren’t too selective, they just rounded up anyone of a certain heritage or homeland living on Coruscant, regardless of any real connection to the bombing and water-supply posioning. Did I mention Jacen is a Jedi? Shouldn’t he of all beings understand that “disagreement is not disloyalty?” I guess not, “not in his galaxy,” anyway.

Jacen’s not a very perceptive or bright boy for all his knowledge and training if you ask me. Then again, I’m an American and I don’t consider us collectively to be very bright or perceptive if you were to ask me, which of course you didn’t.

Yes, it’s still fucking raining outside. Did you know that fuck is the only word in the English language that can be used that way? It’s really one damn versatile word. Try to use the noun form of any other verb, those are called gerunds by the way, in that sentence and you won’t sound too bright at all. “Yes, it’s still jumping raining outside.”

See what I mean?


The Dark Queen- Introduction July 25, 2007

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Rachel ached from hours sitting in the same position at her console staring at various schemata. Her console, the most advanced and sophisticated money could buy, Phoenixfire money, dripped with statistical data streaming in from her think tank arrayed below her lab suite. Frankly, it was all becoming a numbers-blur to her.

“Maris, could you get me another cup of caffe, dark preferably?”

Maris, a humanoid service droid lifted on hovers a few centimeters off of the plush carpets and floated over to fix the requested drink. “Yes mistress.”

Rachel stood, stretched and popped her knuckles all in one uniform motion. She took a look at herself in the mirrored display and fretted with her hair, an unruly mess today; the lab’s humidity controls had been tampered with again. She diverted her attention from her appearance to the bay of research and development droids that filled the pit below her; at least they didn’t need sleep. (more…)

Approaching…Faggoty Attention? July 23, 2007

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In between working incessantly and writing crappy space drama, I like to kick back and blog-lurk. That’s how one comes across jewels like Faggoty Attention!

Besides being uproariously funny, str8 boi’s HOT!

Approaching Minos- Part Five July 22, 2007

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Minos was easy to find.

Using the Oro’s standard transponder signal, the bridge crew immediately received a likewise heavily encrypted reception signal with a flight trajectory that would lead them to Minos Station’s B-16 docking bay.

“Cyan,” Verdoux called from her sensor pod suspended a few meters above the deck. “We’re set to land in less than twelve minutes, but I have to say that something about this doesn’t feel right.” A growing alarm had crept into her senses since entering the Minos quadrant of the Belt Zone, almost as if some unseen hand were warning her and the ship back the way it had come. But there was nothing for her back on Ganymede. Not now. (more…)

Approaching Minos- interlude one July 18, 2007

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Not all is as it seems.

Cyan Lianas by all appearances is a typical male of his species. Standing a little over six feet tall and of medium build he would blend easily into a crowd of other neptunians. One characteristic does stand out about him though, but could be passed off as aesthetically induced. A birthmark spanning both temples and the corona of his scalp discolors the hair growing there to a streak of jet black. (more…)

Approaching Minos- Part Four July 16, 2007

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“What do you mean, trap?” Cyan asked, tone inflected and dubious of the woman’s meaning.

“Just that. A trap. Left for us on Miranda by someone who can’t be looking out for our well-being,” Una said standing and indicating the state of gross disrepair the ship was in.” (more…)

Approaching Minos- Part Three July 13, 2007

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The Old Ones of Minos speak of a prophecy predicting the demise of our great ancient Solarian culture. It names you, Cyan Lianas of the Uprising Colony, as the one on which an empire’s destruction or ultimate salvation pivots.

Meet me on Minos and I will reveal myself to you. Keep your watch vigilant. Not all among you are who they seem. I would tell you more…but you’ll figure it out soon enough.

Cyan closed the encrypted message written in a curious script and dialect he knew was native to Triton, but unused for the better part of the century. (more…)

Approaching Minos- Part Two July 11, 2007

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Iris sat on a pallet of spare engine parts and ran through the tally-set displayed on her datapad. It was the third time she’d run the logistics count and was nearing the length of her patience with the dilapidated equipment. “I hate this detail…or assignment or whatever this is I’m doing,” she said with all the disdain she could muster. Barely sixteen, she had seen more of the empire than everyone on the small cruiser-class ship combined; something very few could claim traveling coach. Her father would only let her travel the solar system on one of the family yachts or when push came to shove, first-class conveyance. (more…)

Approaching Minos- Part One July 9, 2007

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Cyan LianasThe air was still and cold in the darkened room. On a cot no bigger than the man atop it, something stirred. With a start, he woke reaching toward his chest and rested his hand on the top of a furry scalp. It meowed.

“Caliban you startled me,” the man said groggily sweeping his feet off the thin bedspread and onto the metal floor. “That time already?”

He made his way slowly across the seven feet or so to the small cabinet and undid the cloth and leather latch to get to a bag of Triton’s Best Tuna Surprises and dropped a few fishy-smelling gel cubes to the floor. Caliban, a young brown and gray tabby of about two years, leapt from the foot of the cot to the floor landing silently and crossed the short distance to the long-awaited breakfast. (more…)

Not Dead Yet July 2, 2007

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Hey, it’s been too long. In the interstices of life I find time to update! So, what’s been going on in the last two weeks:

My job turned from learning to work, which means I became heavily time-invested. The nature of my position at the station is so social. I’ve spent more time smiling and presenting myself and the web-product than actually closing any business, so for all my work I have very little to show for it…yet. I’m bracing myself for the inevitable “…your presentation was very solid, but we’re going to have to pass for now. Check back in six months,” routine. Then again maybe not.

The room mate situation got a little worse then a little better. I move into my own place this weekend. Can’t wait to have my own place again, but will miss the company. Then again, the alone time might help me write a little more or maybe even get me back into that art studio head-space I break into every year or so. I can only keep my fingers crossed and my chin up.

I re-connected with the parentale last weekend and let the momra-unit know I’m not entirely dead yet and have taken up residency in West Texas embarking on a new career. She said congrats and offered to help me purchase a car with her good[er] credit. Talked with my brother for the first time in years and was freaked out that his voice registers lower than my own. There can only be one… My mom and grandmother are supposedly on a collision-course with my apartment later in the Summer. That should be fun. I don’t know how to sufficiently dry my words to the right shade of parched clay that conveys the sarcasm in the previous sentence.

It’s nice being able to buy things again. But I hunger for more buyables.