SDO

Things and Stuff.

Fire Luen

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Luens are the physical embodiment of goleuni, and this here is a fire one. Nowadays the leuni doesn’t completely take over a being, but it’s still inside.

The First Meal

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I never meant to kill my first one. It was passion first, an accident second. After that, though, all intentional.

I lived as a wanderer, always. To succeed in my detached lifestyle, I needed to acquire certain skills. I could have, like many other women in my position, fucked my way to safety every night. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my share of whoring, it works. But these girls who did it exclusively were being taken advantage of. I don’t like being the weaker party.

I was a robber, mostly. I’d sneak in, or I’d worm my way in through pity or smarm, whatever it took. If I got nothing more than food and supplies from the people, I was happy. I never took more than I could use or sell quickly. I wasn’t looking for riches, I just wanted to be in charge of my own life. If things got too hot to handle, I’d bolt. Someone woke up, or confronted me, I’d drop it all and cut my losses. I’d never fight; I didn’t count fighting to be part of my skillset. I was a coward, truly. A mouse stealing bread crumbs from the pantry. My skin was worth more to me than whatever I was taking.

I was at the docks one day, doing as the dock ladies do. The regulars were giving me dirty looks because I didn’t dress or call out like them. I wasn’t a professional, I didn’t care what they thought clients wanted. So I stood apart. A little out of their range. Let them snigger, let them complain. Guys who know what they want can go to them. I’ll be here for the timid ones who don’t want to want to dive into the dark alley of gaping holes.

On the outer edge is where I met her, though. My first one. She was dressed head to toe in white lace and jewels. Far overdressed for even the nearby market. She walked directly to me and said, “Come with me. You look cleaner than the rest.” She continued walking, but not back the way she came.

“I don’t do housework,” I called after her, thinking she’s making a mistake.

“I know what you do,” she said without turning.

I shrugged and followed. She did not turn to acknowledge me, but she knew I was there. She made a point to only walk where there would be enough room for me to trail behind without having to look for her.

We left the docks, and followed a well worn dirt path to the rocky shore. There, she entered a split in the rocks. I stood back. The hairs on my neck prickled in apprehension at the thought that this could be a trap.

“It’s not a trap,” she called out.

“Yeah, real comforting coming from the trapper,” I called back. She laughed.

I entered.

She wore a glowing pendant that lit the way in the narrow cave. I held her hand so I’d not get lost. It was soft, as if she’d never done anything but put cream on them all day.

I tried to remember which directions we were turning; just in case I needed to get out in a hurry. It was hard, I never even felt the walls to know if there were any breaks to get lost in. She moved like she’d memorized this path.

Soon, she reached a wooden door. She tapped it with a finger and the door opened.

I panicked. I knew I shouldn’t have followed her. Glowing gems, magic doors, she’s a witch! She’s going to cut out my eyeballs and use them in potions!

Her grip was unnaturally tight. I didn’t move an inch. “Get inside,” she said, her voice soft and strong. I stilled and obeyed; I’d certainly lost my advantage. She released my hand and I looked around, trying to study my surroundings. I needed to know a way out.

This certainly wasn’t a witch’s cave—the room was tall and white, with ornate sconces dotting the walls. One wall was entirely glass panels. I saw the sea and sunset clearly.

My panic subsided and I pieced together where I was. From the docks, I had seen a tall white mansion where they said shipmaster lived. “Are you the dock warden?” I asked.

“I am the Sea,” she replied.

“So his wife,” I said.

She smiled. “You are a clever one,” she said. She explained that her husband was out to sea often, and rarely home to please her. She couldn’t bring in lovers through the front door, so she found a cave and connected it the house.

That’s what she wanted me for. Fine, I thought, I can do that, and then rob the shit out of this place. I didn’t normally steal for wealth, but this was too good to pass up. The docks would be easy enough to get to, and then get away from.

Yet, I stayed for days. I lived like a queen with her. I was her little secret to keep from the servants, she said. I never saw any, though. She brought the food and drink. So the servants either knew enough to stay away, or there were no servants. I refused to believe that her word alone kept them from her bedroom without suspecting a guest.

There was something else keeping me there, though. I could taste it every time I kissed her; she was the Sea. Her lips tasted of the salty ocean; her touch was soft like the waves lapping the shore. Every breath I took near her felt like I was inhaling her strength. She was intoxicating.

My vision changed at each encounter and all was a dream around her. Colors left, and the void was filled by thoughts of her. Of the Sea. I saw only her power—the ocean and the stars and the sky. She controlled me with them, just as I suppose she controlled her husband. I think perhaps it was his fear of her that kept him away. If he even existed.

She washed over me constantly—I no longer had an advantage, but at this point did not care. I had only a desire of drowning in her; soft and salty and strong. It was impossible to tell if I was dead or alive; to know if I was rolling in bed sheets or in waves. I don’t even know if what we did constituted sexual pleasure anymore. She both filled me and exhausted me.

I awoke one morning to find myself hungrier for her power than ever. The world looked dark and colorless, but I could tell it was already well into the morning. I looked at her, lying next to me, and she was sleeping.

I stared at her face, and, for a moment, saw a shimmer of color. It intrigued me. I held her face, positioning it to see the shimmer again. She awoke and smiled; I suppose expecting a kiss. At the time I had no interest. Her face, her lips, were darkness. I needed that shimmer. But her lips were the way to get it. I kissed her passionately, and the shimmer moved into me. I could feel it. It washed over me, filled me with the warmth of the surface of the sea. I closed my eyes and felt it seep in.

I breathed deep, and opened my eyes.

The world was still darkness.

Her eyes were closed.

I had swallowed the Sea.

Old art

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I think this is from around spring of ’08. I honestly don’t remember drawing it. I’m looking through a pile of things on my desk and this is the first thing I don’t recall drawing.

 

 

Art 9/4/2012

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Here are some things I did for an art class. Criteria was 8″x8″, inspired by urban scenes, and

One simple symmetry:

One bi-axial symmetry:

One basic asymmetry:

One balanced asymmetry:

Something I Sent To a Service Survey

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There was FAR too much run-around. Worst service experience ever with a phone repair.

When I tried to enter a service request online, I filled out all the information (contact information, serial numbers, details on issue) and received a pop-up that said I need to call the service line for the request. All the information I entered was then erased.
I called the number, and an automated message told me that the service line was closed (it was the weekend) and that I should fill out the information online. It also recommended using the live chat. I used the live chat and was given ANOTHER number to call.
I called that, and was able to recite to a person everything I should have been able to fill out online. This was a waste of both my time and the customer service representative. Reciting numbers over the phone will cause more errors in entry than letting users type in the information.
Several days after Samsung received the phone for repairs, I received an email saying “Your product has been repaired and was shipped on 06/05/2012.” I receive a second email saying that the solution is “BER.” With all acronyms, you should assume that they mean nothing outside your organization. If someone has to call and ask what something means, or even look it up online, you are wasting time.
Working under the assumption that an email saying my phone has been repaired actually means that my phone has been repaired, I did nothing and waited three days for my phone. Upon opening it, I see a red paper that says my phone could not be repaired. I then had to call Samsung service to find out why, and why “BER” is an acceptable “solution” and called a “repair”.
The first rep told me (indirectly) that BER means Beyond Economical Repair). He then told me that they could not reverse the charge and would escalate my call.
The next rep told me that he would gladly reverse the charge and that the initial rep that took the service call should have not sent me a shipping label at all, as if they are trained to refuse to repair any water damage, even out of warranty.
He then transferred me to yet another representative who was disappointed at what the second rep told me and that he should have told me that they will not reverse the charge. He did, however, reverse the charge anyway.
If all this could have been avoided, I would have had a new Samsung Galaxy Nexus phone 10 days earlier. I like Samsung products. I am very disappointed in the service.

Some Leushi Art

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Posted some art over at Fish Level. Go look!

Husk

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I haven’t updated in forever. Here’s some writing.

Husk bore no grudges against the living. Her pursuit was of knowledge, not vengeance. She remembered few of the things he learned, however. This, in part, is what kept her from seeking any retribution for what the living had done to her. Why seek revenge, she reasoned, when I don’t even know if I was wronged?
The living allowed her to walk among them, but not unmolested. Children would throw rocks or rotten food at her; the grown would give her dirty looks or turn away. A few of the young would confront her, she was told, and beat her into submission. She never remembered these encounters.
Husk was not what they considered a “person.” All she knew of her life was relayed to her by those that hated her. She had no idea of her own history, and so she could not deny any of their accusations. They told her that she was born dead and should have stayed that way. They said her mother used unnatural magic to bring breath into her lungs. They told her that if she was meant to live in this world, she would be able to remember it. They told her she should leave this world as soon as possible.
“You are dead yet you walk the roads,” they would say to Husk. She believed them. She could see well enough that her skin was dry and clinging to her meager frame. Her gait was a shamble, slower even than the elderly matrons who tended the gardens.
“You are dead yet to speak to us,” they would say. Husk knew the sound of her own voice and how it rasped against her peeling throat as she exhaled. She knew it was not a pleasing sound to the living, and so she kept it to herself a much as she could.
“You are dead yet you read,” the meddyg would say to her. “Reading is not a skill many possess here.” The meddyg is living, Husk noted, and does not hate me.
Meddyg Yu-Isu provided Husk with much reading material. He showed much patience compared to the none-at-all the other living showed her. He had no problems at all providing her a book he had already read three time over; he understood her mind was fragile. He knew she was prone to forgetting things, especially when she is damaged.

“Yu,” Husk whispered, looking up from her book. The skin on her neck crackled as she moved.
Yu-Isu turned from his stitching to face his patient. “Pardon me a moment,” he said to the horrified man.
“I didn’t even know that thing was here,” the man said, a look of utter disgust on his face.
“That thing forgets more in a day than you will ever know,” Yu-Isu hissed in response. He jabbed the needle into his patient’s leg more roughly than required for the last few stitches before moving to the table at which Husk was seated. “How can I help you, friend?”
“I read thi—” she started, but shut her crackling lips on the word. She shook her head softly, indicating to Yu-Isu yet again that she’d forgotten what she was going to say.
He patted her lightly on the back and said, “Some day, don’t worry.”
Yu-Isu stood and collected a few herbs and vials from a cabinet before returning to his patient. “The vials,” he said to him, “You are to add to your drinks. The herbs you add to your food. They will heal you from the inside. Do not touch the stitches. Bathe in the spring in seven days and then return. Now get out, you are distracting Husk.”

Art 11-16-11

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Art 9-3

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Dreams 8-12

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I had a dream last night that some bad artist was selling poster prints of 1. someone else’s (much better) art, 2. their own crappy sketch-comics, and 3. horribly patched together photoshop-recolored emo photographs. The prints were on display in a Walgreens, and the artist insisted that everyone must leave comments in writing on fabric.

1. First piece was titled “Slavecrab Party”—It was headcrabs from half-life wearing party hats. The original artist painted it and the rip-off artist made prints and added the title and her signature.

2. Their crappy comics were pencil on white background, poorly drawn with no concept of anatomy, and was obviously drawn on notebook paper and then laid out in photoshop, where they tried (and failed) to completely remove the blue line. The “panels” (there were no lines) were in no perceptible order and there was a lot of irregularly sized white space. The subject matter was two of the class characters from TF2 falling in cartoon love with each other, complete with bugged-out eyes/hearts and falling rose petals.

3. The image was a kid with long hair in black standing in front of a tree, looking down so you couldn’t see the face. The tree, the kid, and the ground were from all different photographs and at different resolutions

The comment cloth was cut from t-shirts and baby clothes into the shape of panties.

I title this dream DEVIANTART.COM

 

 

Short dreams:

I visited the mother of some long-dead artist-friend and gave her some stuff. She complained about how artist-friend’s widow had already remarried.

A package intended for us went to a neighbors house. They had put the package with all the moving boxes of the neighbor. The neighbors weren’t home and we didn’t feel right just taking the boxes, in case someone else saw and told the neighbors we stole stuff.

Sonic the hedgehog vs. Shadow in a race down some minecraft stair maze. I kept losing playing at sonic until instead of running right away, I grabbed Shadow and threw him off the edge.