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All about Vikrilian
Viewing profile :: Vikrilian
Joined: 3958 Days
Posts: 6
Location: Oklahoma

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Thursday, Oct 11th 2007
Author: Oibara :: Posted: Thu Oct 11, 2007 1:27 pm


Everquest is up and running again, so log in, and come kill stuff in the face. Twice.


Published!
Author: Meppan :: Posted: Tue Jul 31, 2007 4:27 pm
PUBLISHED!!

Yes, it's true!

My story "Horses of the Dark" appears in The Dragonmount Anthology - Short Story, Vol. 1 -- which you can purchase at the Dragonmount.com store. A direct link can be found here = http://www.cafepress.com/dragonmount.146940481

It's expensive, but worth it! All proceeds go to support Amyloidosis research (the disease Robert Jordan has), and they go directly to his clinic/research facility.

Again, buy my book! www.dragonmount.com

Thanks!


Tuesday, July 3rd, 2007
Author: Meppan :: Posted: Tue Jul 03, 2007 7:31 am
Background--this character is "The Poet."

Quote:
...the reason people had waited for the Hawking drive to see the spiral arm of the galaxy is that in long-term cryogenic sleep--as opposed to a few weeks or months of fugue--chances of terminal brain damage were one in six. I was lucky. When I was uncrated on Heaven's Gate and put to work digging out acid canals beyond the perimeter, I had suffered only a cerebral accident--a stroke. Physically, I was able to work in the mud pits within a few local weeks. Mentally, there was much left to be desired.

The left side of my brain had been shut down like a damaged section of a spinship being sealed off, airtight doors leaving the doomed compartments open to vacuum. I could still think. Control of the right side of my body soon returned. Only the language centers had been damaged beyond simple repair. The marvelous organic computer wedged in my skull had dumped its language content like a flawed program. The right hemisphere was not without some language--but only the most emotionally charged units of communication could lodge in that affective hemisphere; my vocabulary was now down to nine words. (This, I learned later, was exceptional, many victims of CVAs retain only two or three.) For the record, here is my entire vocabulary of manageable words: fuck, shit, piss, cunt, goddamn, motherfucker, asshole, peepee, and poopoo.

A quick analysis will show some redundancy here. I had at my disposal eight nouns, which stood for six things; five of the eight nouns could double as verbs. I retained one indisputable noun and a single adjective which also could be used as a verb or expletive. My new language universe was comprised of four monosyllables, three compound words, and two baby-talk repetitions. My arena of literal expression offered four avenues to the topic of elimination, two references to human anatomy, one request for divine imprecation, one standard description of or request for coitus, and a coital variation which was no longer an option for me since my mother was deceased.

All in all, it was enough.

I will not say that I remember my three years in the mud pits and slime slums of Heaven's Gate with fondness, but it is true that these years were at least as formative as--and probably more so than--my previous two decades on Old Earth.

I soon found that amoung my intimate acquatances--Old Sludge, the scoop-shovel foreman; Unk, the slumyard bully to whom I paid my protection bribes; Kiti, the lice-ridden crib doxy whom I slept with when I could afford it--my vocabulary served me well. "Shit-fuck," I would grunt, gesticulating. "Asshole cunt peepee fuck."

"Ah," grinned Old Sludge, showing his one tooth, "going to the company store to get some algae chewies, huh?"

"Goddamn poopoo," I would grin back at him.


~Dan Simmons, Hyperion

-----------

Because we are what we read.


Thursday, May 31st, 2007
Author: Meppan :: Posted: Thu May 31, 2007 12:00 pm
Quote:
Of all the wizards he had known since first Kallian Ptolemy opened his mind, he had known only five who were not corrupted by the power. Five, in hundreds.

They did not form any sort of union, those five. One was a Chinese priest, fat and bald and sensual, strange jolly humor echoing in the silence of the Tao. The Russian hermit was hairy and louseridden, living his whole life in a smoky cave full of crooked idols, some of them perhaps older than Man. Here was an ordinary village wisewoman, in an ordinary little house that was the same size inside as out and did not stand on chicken legs, whose god had required a comically absurd passion and the whole mechanism of Roman justice to conditionally redeem his creations. The fourth held that all gods were lies, that the cosmos was a machine, like a clockwork or a watermill--but a perfect clockwork or watermill. The fifth...he did not want to think about her, and anyway she was dead.

...

He knew what kept those five alone from devouring themselves. It was not the sorts of spells they worked, nor the names they worked in, nor magic circles or eye of newt or the phases of the moon. He knew what it was, but knowing could not save him, because the parts of him that could sustain faith were all burned out.


The Dragon Waiting, by John M. Ford

----------

Oh, yes, Mr. Ford.

Because we are what we read.


Thursday, May 24th, 2007
Author: Meppan :: Posted: Thu May 24, 2007 12:21 pm
Quote:
"God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of the players, (ie everybody), to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time."


~Neil Gaiman/Terry Pratchett, Good Omens

---------

Because we are what we read.


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