Going for the last crawl

If anybody had told me that I would be able to finish a 50,000 word novel in less than 25 days, I would have definitely laughed at them. This is because they definitely did not know me. That is, if anybody told me before November, 2015. I remember the last day of October very well though. A Sunday filled with dread, and anxiety, but I pulled through and wrote an entire novel in the month of November. I was very proud. I put up statuses on Twitter and Facebook. My very own novel.
Unfortunately, writing it was way easier than trying to edit it and that is where it stands right now, mostly a year later with little to say for it. To be fair it's my second novel - the first one is also floating around in limbo waiting for revival.

Perhaps that is the course of these things. And also a harsh reality of my approach - that of not actually knowing anything about the story before it begins and ends. It was terrible to go through the sections that I had written, so this time it'll be the Architect's approach (as opposed to the Gardener's) that I will employ. Once I get an idea stuck to my head, that is. Perhaps a little romantic tale of a snail and a tortoise living happily ever after or some other such.
holds up spork

The tinkering is a long time coming

I am writing again.
And by writing I mean powering through the night in a bid to finish a ridiculous word count.
This is NaNoWriMo. Something I signed up for three years ago and began writing for as of yesterday.
I've carried 5000+ units of horrendous diarrhea from the depths of my mind to the screen in front of me, and somehow I don't feel lighter. I feel sick with a story that's been building inside of me for a few years now, and I do not know what to do with all this information that is building up. Should I keep a writing journal like Grapes of Wrath? Should I perhaps just give a life update everyday here on this little 30GB of the Internet for posthumous examination?

Perhaps I'll just leave aside all of it and look for different ways to screw around on my own self.

Also, maybe just showcase the tinkering around with the Arduino.
And the ukulele.
And oh look, a butterfly

Test Post Please Ignore




I said ignore this post. What the hell man.

The Helicopter Ride

The helicopter was losing altitude. This was not over a field of snow or a lawn of grass, but over a city. The city that took its name from a banal goddess of death that had resurrected herself as a champion of the living. She hoped that the goddess would give her some protection and somehow project her stupefying powers of cheating death into a floating magical wrench that would repair her main rotor. Or, inject some fuel in the tank. Or whichever goddessy power that would make the helicopter straighten itself and not have her die along with a few Parsi aunties for company.
She had managed to maneouvre it next to the string of offices that peppered the coast of the city and all the cogs inside could only see a coast guard helicopter swerving out of control and had taken out their phones to take a picture.
"Fuck…it had to be now that she leaves me.", said she. 'She', meaning the ghost of her cooler elder sister. She had hijacked the copter - stolen is the better word, because no one was actually using it; and I'm sure you must have assumed so because of the use of that adjective - we'll come to that, and since when have we begun thinking of thieves as cool? Is it because of that book I bought to you? Nevermind.
The ghost of her sister had been giggling. She was a bit of bitch, though, but all that was forgiven because she had made her sister about five times cooler than her base 0 state. Who else could have sneaked over to the coast guard hangar and stolen a helicopter, after knowing precisely how to unlock it and get it ready for flying - she had also hacked into their communications system and made the poor sods of ground crew prep the helicopter.
It was fun, and she had somehow convinced her lame ass younger sister to get it done. It was a pain to do that, though. There was a long drinking session involved in which she had to do the following things:-
1. Convince the idiot to drink with her
2. Assure her that she, the ghost, had no ulterior motives
3. When 60% drunk to capacity, out that last bit of assure as a lie
4. Reassure her that it would not be that bad, as she did not, in fact, have any ulterior motive - as assured of earlier.
5. When 90% drunk to capacity, tell her that all she wanted was to have her die in a helicopter crash, at some point of time because as sisters they did a lot of things together, and dying in the same way somehow makes it as cool.
Which led her to this:-
6. The younger one (at 110% capacity and about to shed that excess 10% any moment now) asking her sister to teach her how to fly a helicopter. Now. Like. Right fucking now, you enormous bitch.

But you see, she was a ghost. So while she had decided to teach her sister to be as cool as her and pilot a helicopter, she had grown bored of the afterlife and decided to go down to Tartaros and wanted a companion. Her idiot sister would be suitable.

When the craft had somehow gained altitude on its own volition, she eased herself with great care back into her sister's head. She had come to know how to resist intrusion with remarkable speed, and had blocked the older one's more rugged (and y'know, very rough) penetrations.

There was a hundred second silence as the two of them were acutely aware of each other's separate physical existence in the same space, before their minds allowed the merger and they could feel the seething irritation on each other.
"...what?" "Oh really? It's my fault now? Somehow you're trying to kill me, and I'm the one who is the gigantic loser who does not get it." "It's okay, listen, I'm not gonna make you die today." "What the fuck do you mean, not make you die today. You're not my god, bitch. I'll tell mom that she should dig out your body and place the goddamn coin." "Haha, so funny. Dig an exploded victim and place a coin on the pile of ashes." "Well if you notice, that is pretty much what we did and Hades approved - we did a lot of pujas, you know?" "So why did I not get it? What happened - the courier boy was late? He couldn't find the building?" "No, you were just a gigantic cunt and did not expect it. You just don't believe any of us." "Pf." "Just try it once."

She did. With a spectral (pop) @fa-circle-o@ , the coin appeared on her forehead and she went (poof).

"What…the-" the younger one said before her 'copter cartwheeled into a large audit firm's glass windows, destroying much of it and causing 9/11 like symptoms in the country. # She saw her sister in line about a mile and a half away. They were acutely aware of each other's existence and looked at each other with a frozen stare that stretched equally on both sides. So 3/4ths of the distance from the land of the living covered by quickly decaying frost and 3/4ths of the mile from the side of Hades, quite decadent and stale frost.
"I'll show you, you bitch." the younger one mouthed and huffed in front of the line to the boat.

The Thoughtless Rounder

I allow myself to be played a little bit. Just a little. It is it's own high. And of course it's all for the greater good.
For example, one day, the commander of the armies of the north chanced upon the tent where I was asleep and told me that there was nothing worse than a large white rabbit stew cooked by the cook that he had to consume in front of the entire army before the skirmish.
"'Tis torture! Absolute torture on the tongue! I must teach these vermin a lesson!!" The commander was a sissy, but I was one of his country's slaves. The last remaining of my kind, mind you.
When the commander finished his usual whine, he would play with me, with all the knobs and pulleys and levers.
Eventually, he'd get what he wants - he'd see what he wants, in fact and feel it and live it. His mind will see him distastefully spurn the rabbit stew at the cook and bark filthy insults at the gathered lieutenants and captains. It would see them get butchered by the slattern of war and eaten by vultures with pink eyes.
It was all in good fun because he would do no such thing. /I/ would do so, given the opportunity. But for now, I was the slut and this man demanded it as if it was his own right.

The old masters were usually better equipped with dealing with my kind. There were books and there were older masters. I remember my uncle telling me a story where a child asked him an inoccuous question after watching him paint a sky.
"Mmmaaa nice, so how do the stars reflect the Sun?" This was right after the laws were instated against us, so he was not in a telling mood. So he showed the child.
Incidentally, it so happened that the child was the only son of the king of the nation, so the prince becoming an incompetent mad man was big news.
Eventually, the old masters were deemed unworthy and put to death and so were we. I escaped in the custody of this commander roue as the travelling rake of his army. It's so funny because it's true. I cannot do anything that my kin could at one point of time. Tch.
I could try, however.

The night before the decisive final battle, the commander of the armies of the north came to my little cage and touched every part of the mechanism that hurt my corporeal form. He was raving. He needed my comforting touch and I needed something to alleviate the lasting boredom. He pulled at my collar and roughly kissed me like sloven and a half having his goddamn luncheon. He was screaming at my ears but my mind was already repeating his words at him.
"'Tis torture! Absolute torture on the tongue! I must teach this vermin a lesson!!" My thought coalesced into a corrupted version of what he usually saw. As I pushed it down his throat and up his mind, he saw everything that I wanted to see in reverse and saw my cold hard glare before I slit his throat. Ichor seeped through his chainmail and dripped across his pants. He was dying slowly and he was being shown all this from my perspective. Lots of mischief!
As he woke up and saw my toothy smile of coy mischief at his wet pants, he calmly stalked out and came back with his sword out of his scabbard.
"You will pay for that, vermin." He slit my throat. I knew he would. But the look in his eyes when I said "so will you" in the most cunningly contrived devil's tone was worth all the trouble.
I mean, what else is the point of all of this?