dmjewelle: (<3)

The best part? I COMPLETED the draft.

Ttly kicking back with some root beer to celebrate.
dmjewelle: (Epic)

Maybe now I can finally work on the novel for REAL instead of faffing about.
dmjewelle: (Feel like crap)
[ profile] kitsunei asked, and now I actually have some words, so why not.


“You fear fame.”

“Yes, Mr Harland.”

“Then why the hell did you join a band?!”

“Nobody knew how to sing my songs.”

“Nobody knew how to sing your songs?!” Fischer repeated, incredulous.

“That is right, Mr Harland.”

“How does that even work?!” Fischer’s voice went higher with every syllable.

“See I write the lyrics in the band, but my band members’ music often does not match my lyrics. It’s always ‘oh this line is too long’ or ‘this line is too short, can you add more words’ and then there’d be ‘that line doesn’t even make sense, change it back but I can’t Otogi you made the line too short and I cannot drag out the note that long”, and so to solve the problem I switched and took over as the vocalist and sang the songs according to their music,” Otogi explained, regaining the chipper edge in his voice. “The good part is our songs sound better now, which is why we think we’re being scouted by the new label.”

dmjewelle: (persona3)
See those wisps, floating away.

That delicate white ring ripped apart - oh look it's broken. Rise higher. Dragged up kicking and screaming. Has it stopped struggling? I think it has. A drowned corpse bloated with air, it rises to the surface of the sky.

Fingers oustretched, trying to touch it. It looks opaque, solid - grab it. It slips through the cracks. Don't go, I want to say. Catch it, swallow it. Chew it, savour it. Linger not in the stars or in the clouds outside, but in the cracks and corners within me.

Bye-bye, I never knew you.


Jul. 14th, 2009 11:55 pm
dmjewelle: (*grin*)
A pair of good jeans is akin to frolicking naked and never noticing, if Sedna's testimony is anything to go by.

Before his arrival at The Vaticanny Place, Sedna had never worn nor heard of jeans in his life; he simply assumed it was some brand of combat gear with increased defense or agility, and that it was prudent to buy a pair if he was going to protect his master well. 500000 credits and 5 adamantiums poorer, seven trips round the universe and 5 world-saving missions later (one involving a galaxy), the only thing more consistent than his hair colour was his trusty pair of soot-grey narrow straight-cut Dee-Mais 404. Despite the amount of danger he'd been put through, he only suffered one loose thread at the hem - the company had certainly lived up to their mission statement of making supernova-resistant jeans. If anybody approached Sedna to be their spokesperson, he'd do it for free, no joke. Indeed, denim jeans were the greatest creation of lesser creatures.

Too bad Finnegan never wore jeans.

It often puzzled Sedna why his master refused to buy jeans, let alone keep a pair in his wardrobe "just in case". Finengan gave all manner of excuses to avoid buying - they didn't carry rainbow black, the material was too hard/soft/both/neither, they never made in in his size, or he just said "No" and continued working. Seemed strange for a God comfortable in tattered hobo shorts to refuse the luxury of soft denim wrapped tightly around his pale slender legs the way a good condom should - not that Sedna knew what that last one felt like.

Sedna pictured Finnegan facing down a fearsome monster - that large bipedal fire-breathing lizard he once saw, perhaps - decked in his trademark maroon silk shirt, a black skinny tie, and black skinny jeans. From afar one would never tell they were denim, and his sillhouette would be worth admiring for hours while he summoned forth mighty spirits to aid him in bringing down his enemy. Standing triumphant over the smoking remains of the reptile, the jeans would create nary an unsightly ripple as it billowed it in the wind (billowing loose silk shirts and skinny ties however was perfectly acceptable).

Or perhaps Finnegan could confront a tough negotiation with glib-tongued foes; hanging on his every word, waiting to ensnare him in their trap and force him to mouth words of surrender. Master Finnegan would lean back on his chair, legs crossed, smug grin, the glare of the lone lightbulb casting no light on those matte black jeans where any inferior pants would have created a cheap lens flare effect. How could anybody take his master seriously if his pants glowed? Jeans would never do that.

Maybe Finnegan lying on the couch after a hard days' work. One hand shielding his face from Sedna, as if refusing to reveal his fatigue. A low mumble, something that went along the lines of "take off my jeans". Sedna would say "Yes, my lord", and trace a finger down Finnegan's shirt buttons, careful not to press too hard on his bellybutton. A fingertip would stop at the tarnished silver button, the grand barrier between Sedna and Finnegan fully personified. In a pinch and a snap, the button would wiggle from under its stitched tunnel, emerging at the other end; a pop and clink. The pull tab was the final gateway - Sedna would look for a sign, and see a glimpse of an approval at the corners of Finnegan's luscious pink lips. Another pinch, a soft, slow, rip, and...


A loud whipping sound accompanied the immediate crash of Sedna's forehead and the hardwood floor he sat on. Peering from the corner of his eye, he saw Finnegan's annoyance (complete with twitching eyebrow) complementing the very large, very plastic, very red, and very full laundry basket he carried.

"Wipe that grin off your retarded face and give me your jeans, I'm going to do the laundry," he said, heading to the washing machine.

A pang of disappointment hit Sedna - the dream had felt so close, so real. Now it was gone, washed away into the suds like his jeans were about to be.

...The jeans he happened to be wearing, that is.

Immediately, he leapt to his feet and pranced off, singing, "Here Master Finnegan, let me take them off right in front of you!"


Sedna always loved his jeans. Why Master Finnegan never liked them, he never knew.



May. 27th, 2008 12:23 am
dmjewelle: (Default)
Against the better part of my judgement, I've put up my Nanowrimo attempt last year.

Here ya go.
dmjewelle: (Furuba)
For your intelligent ranting, the Demonic-Error's still the way to go ^^ See the sidebar? Bookmark that one.

2nd the part - Listen dammit! )

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