Archive for December, 2013

Greetings fellow inmates!

Well, I’m not going to be posting anything for a few days now. It is Christmas very soon after all and I’m going to be spending it with my family (No computer down at their place anyways). Then after that, on boxing day, I’m going to be going to stay with Lee for a while. I’m most likely to be back here around new years. I may attempt to post something while I’m at Lees but i can’t really promise anything as I’d quite like to spend the time with her. So yes, there’s that. Don’t expect any blog posts until around new years. Sorry about that.

I’ve had a great time with the blog so far. This blog has really surprised me, it seems to have really shot off. I’ve only had this blog for a few months and already i seem to be gaining quite a few views and followers and such. I won’t post any numbers or statistics or any crap like that as that comes across as a bit self-indulgent to me. This makes me really quite happy as i never expected anyone to actually enjoy my work. So thank you to each and every one of you out there who has taken the time to read my posts and follow the blog. I love you guys! Hehe! I will surely continue with my posts again as soon as I’m back home.

Now, i wish everybody a very happy Christmas and a crazy-ass new year!

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Best wishes from the Oldschool Harlequin.

Everyone is a spirit.
It pervades everything they are.
Many of goodwill,
Others of cruelty.
Spirits of pleasure.
And spirits of harmony.
Spirits of fortune.
And spirits of vengeance.

Me?
I’m the spirit of world-weariness.
The world no longer means what it did.
The only rays of light are select special souls.
Spirits of companionship,
Spirits of friendship,
Spirits of love.

I am world-weary.

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Lighthouses

Posted: December 18, 2013 in Poems, Writing
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Do you think that lighthouses cry a lot?

Always illuminating,

Always helping,

Always selfless.

 

Never thanked,

Never celebrated,

Never lauded.

Do you think that lighthouses cry a lot?

Everyone has something to say.
Not everyone will listen.
Not at first at least.
You must persevere.

Eventually you will hit a note everyone can hear.
The perfect tone,
The right pitch,
Just on key.
A supreme message.

My advice to you?
Keep it up.
Continue spreading your message,
Whatever it is.
Take the world!

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Society

Posted: December 16, 2013 in Poems, Writing
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Society can be many things, like a hydra has many heads.

Society can be the most extensive family tree.

Society can be the most extravagant party.

Society can be the most fearsome of beasts.

Society can be the most compassionate Samaritan.

Society can be a grotesque monster.

Society can be a truly destructive army.

Society can be a virus.

 

 

Society is the ultimate torture device.

An iron maiden, rack and a brazen bull all in one.

For me.

So much for me posting this the other night eh? Sorry about that, i sort of fell asleep and forgot i was writing it up. I seem to keep doing that recently. My bad! This is simply a short monologue by a convict who was made to go through the aetherisation process that was mentioned in the previous Gravewalker post.

 

“Heroes they called us. What a load of bull! Then again, how could they have known any different? The government never told the populace what the operation was about. They had no idea what the State was gonna do to us. I call us human sacrifices! We aren’t all volunteers after all. It’s not like we’re human anymore. We’re Spirits now. We are the real ghosts in the machine.

Operation Gravewalker it was called. The idea was to turn us into walking tanks, the ultimate war machines. I’m guessing it’s to do with that so-called “big discovery” down in Chile. Some old ruin or something. Ya don’t hear all that much about world news in jail. We gave up our humanity to protect our friends and families. Apparently. I ain’t got any family or friends. Some of the others did it out of love, some felt some stupid divine calling and some did it out of guilt. I was forced. A real human sacrifice to the State.

I won’t forget the process itself. I got told to stand in this small white room. Then all of a sudden one of the walls opened up, behind it was this robot looking thing. Almost like out of the old transformers. It just stood there, dead. I didn’t really know what to do, so i just stood there. Suddenly i felt this massive force of cold, like being thrown into an arctic pool. It went on for a few minutes i think, hard to tell. I looked at my hands. They were dissolving! But they were still there, it was like my hands became a gas. A couple more minutes passed and my whole body got turned into this gas. They told me this was exactly what was meant to happen. The bastards took my body and turned me into a damn ghost.

Their plan succeeded. We sure did become unstoppable weapons of war. That robot body was sure no simple Japanese entertainment bot. It was one of them. Our bodies got reduced to fuel to power them: our suits of armour. No, perhaps our homes? Another prison? It’s like sitting inside of a sauna, but you can’t leave. So hot. It was so cold before, why does it have to be hot now? Our spirit bodies burn to bring them to life. Our spirits burn to drive them headlong through gunfire. Our spirits burn to give them the power to smash armies. They call them the Monoliths. And let me tell you this: they are goddamn scary! Now I’m goddamn scary! Haha!  We are the ghosts in the machine.”

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So i recently resurrected my deviantART account. Turns out i have owned this account for about 5 years but never really used it. Crazy huh?

I’m going to be putting the majority of my work on there too, the idea being to try and get some more exposure. As ever, i remain modest. I don’t ever expect all that much but if even one person likes it, ill be quite pleased. I feel I have a bit of a better chance getting noticed by more people if i put my work on this blog as well as that site. 🙂

Also, you may notice i have enabled a Twitter widget on my blog now so you can see my kooky ramblings on there whenever i post them. Give it a follow if you have an account. I’d be very grateful.

So the link to my deviantART page is this: >>>> http://oldschoolharlequin.deviantart.com/ <<<<

Cheers fellow inmates!

I’ve been toying with an idea recently, I’m not going to reveal everything here straight away but i thought I’d type up a few notes I’ve written. Just for flavor reasons, you understand. Surprisingly enough its actually a science fiction idea, as opposed to my usual endeavors. Hopefully I’m going to type up another piece of writing later on tonight. Well, that’s the plan anyway.

Operation Gravewalker: Special forces directive using undisclosed means to turn both volunteers and convicts into ‘Spirits’. These spirits act as spectral pilots and fuel for the ‘Monoliths’.

Monolith: Mechanical weapons of war. Usually bipedal, but can be modified however the pilot wishes or requires. Requires a human being to be ‘Aetherised’ to control the machine. The pilots incorporeal form acts as fuel for the ‘Furnace’. A pilot is anchored to the Monolith, but does not have to permanently reside within it.

Spirits: A spirit is a human being who has gone through the ‘Aetherisation’ process and become an incorporeal being akin to a ghost of legend. Like the traditional myths,  Spirits are able to use many of the same abilities attributed to ghosts, such as possession of inanimate objects and passing through solid walls for example.

The Furnace: The “engine” of a Monolith. A mystical power source that requires spectral energy to operate. Able to produce colossal amounts of power but for obvious reasons spectral energy is hard to come by. A Spirit pilots body burns for all time within a Monolith to keep his or her Furnace active.

Aetherisation: Process of converting a humans body into a spectral being without killing them. An unknown machine owned by the state is used for this purpose. The subject loses their physical body permanently, but is able to perform many actions that are traditionally attributed to ghosts. They are then known as ‘Spirits’.

Ryan Sargent saw some pretty crazy things in the city of Ebonton recently. I know that seems to be a constant for him, but there you go. Has he been fooled by an amazingly clever stunt or has he truly witnessed the supernatural again? Let’s see what he has to say for himself…

“I don’t know why i try to enjoy myself. My leisure time always seems to end up sprouting questions about the supernatural somehow. Perhaps I’m cursed or something. I went to watch some theatre shows recently. The shows were amazing, as i expected. Full of amazing magician tricks and some pretty unbelievably dangerous stunts. One in particular was quite something to behold. An absolutely gorgeous young woman began the stunt by saying some strange words in an unknown language. This struck me as bizarre straight away.  Then she motioned to the stage crew to activate the machine at the other end of the stage. This machine was unlikely to pass any health and safety checks whatsoever. It was a series of rings a few feet apart that were held up on end, almost like a tunnel. The insides of the rings were quite clearly circular saws of some kind. The rings then began to move about independently of each other, creating a pretty hellish obstacle course for our young stunt woman.

What followed defied any rational explanation!

The stunt woman held her arms out to the side. Then, slowly but surely, the woman began to levitate slowly. The audience was dumbfounded of course! But i got that sinking feeling in my belly that i always got when something supernatural was nearby, call it a monster hunters intuition! The woman levitated about 3 feet off the floor and stopped. Then she said some more unearthly sounding words. She turned slowly towards the obstacle course of death, still in the air. In a matter of moments the woman had performed some form of elaborate spin and burst through the air, passing unharmed through the spinning blades. Dodging and spinning while moving through a tunnel of saws of death? The audience was amazed! My eyes narrowed. The woman touched down on the stage at the other end of the machine again. The show was over. What a stunt right? I believe it was something different.

I had to read up on this. Check out some legends of magicians and the like. I don’t believe that it was some clever trick. I’m certain of it, it was magic! Now I’ve seen a good number of monsters in my time, but humans with the ability to wield magical abilities? That’s a new one. Of course, its not much of a stretch. There have been stories of wizards, medicine-men and witches since the dawn of recorded history. Conveniently enough, i found a legend pertaining to the very area this city was built on. I won’t get into how i found this for professional reasons. The legends of the Showmen. Wizards who used their powers to wow and confound the populace. Sounds harmless enough right? Not so.

Magic is real. We all think that the stage magicians and puppeteers are merely entertainers, but beneath the veil of their mundane practices lies a wholly different truth. These cryptic denizens of the world refer to themselves as the ‘Showmen’. Their gift, though impressive and awe-inspiring, may be more rare than many of the other denizens of the unknown world. They call it ‘Showmanship’ or the ‘Power of Purple’. An ancient gift from the heavens, depths or the aether (who knows?). Given to a small number of people who were forced under oath by some unknown being to keep the art of Showmanship secret. They were, however, encouraged to train others in the ways of their art but were told to draw new initiates from the dispossessed or the homeless. Presumably so as not to arouse suspicion. The reason why this magic is to be kept a secret is, unsurprisingly, also a secret.

As the legend goes, the gift of Showmanship was given to approximately 20 people by an unknown yet unbelievably mighty and persuasive being. There are conflicting views on what exactly the being was. Was it a god (or THE God) that passed down the power? Could it of been some Demon? Satan? An Elemental? Others still say that there was some kind of fairy baron who wished to turn these humans into some kind of perfect entertainers for some obscure reasons. Another told of an imp who tried to take control of these people and somehow messed it up. There seem to be countless theories, each with contradicting ideas and evidence. In truth, nobody truly knows where Showmanship came from. Showmanship, by its very own nature, is hard to categorize. Showmen seem to be able do almost anything. From generating different colour lights to creating devastating flames, from levitation to  invisibility. It’s a scary thing to imagine in the wrong hands and yet there doesn’t seem to be any accounts of the power being used to harm. Perhaps that was another tenet of the original trainers. Perhaps it is simply used to entertain, to beguile, to confound.

It’s strange when i seem to find a new supernatural thing that appears to be completely harmless. I always expect to find some kind of horrific being that feasts upon human flesh. Or a creature that wants to turn humans into its slaves. Showmanship would be dangerous in the wrong hands true, but keeping it safe and confined to the theatre seems to be the very point. I don’t know what to think. I have to be missing something. I feel this particular aspect of the supernatural world needs further investigation, there are far too many blanks here. I’m certain to be missing something…”

I killed him. I think you should know. My knife was Excalibur and his gut was a scabbard. The knife wanted a home, who am i to ignore it? A monster? Of course not! However it wasn’t as simple as that, ’twas not an act of mere ire. Much is involved in this drama, myself and him merely held centre stage. And quite a show it was! Much of the script was followed as i intended and the blood effects were highly convincing. Above all, as many plays intend, i enjoyed myself. The same cannot be said for him, dare i mention. I do trust that you wish to know the story yes? In that case, i predict an introduction is in order.

You can call me the Harlequin. In fact, call me Harley. Such a name is uncommon, i daresay.  However i do not call myself as such just to be different. No, the name stems from a love of the professions of the vivacious; the carnivals and the jesters, the clowns and the puppeteers. My adoration of these heroes has accompanied me through the several decades of my life. Their exploits have lended their entertainment to my mind during these seemingly long years. I am a Harlequin, i reside in the realms of the audiences mind. Rarely understood yet also rarely forgotten.  However i am a little voice, my opinions rarely heard. Many call me shy and quiet but these many are ignorant to the true Harley that resides in his own little world, doing and saying as he wishes.

In the terms of the ‘normal’ folk, i reside in the great city of Ebonton. Under the eyes of my dear brother Nick. Much to my own credit, i left the dreadful home of my mother, when she had parted ways with her husband, my father. I do not regret my actions, gaining by various means as much money as possible and traveling to Ebonton to stay with my brother who had moved there several years prior. I have lived here with him for just over a year, a time i have adored thus far.

The day i traveled here, thankfully i saw two magpies.

My brother is a great man, twenty years my elder. Yet another actor in this grand tale. He is a bald, muscly monster of a man with a certain love of modern heavy metal music. I certainly can’t fault him for that. He, like myself, also has a great adoration for the energetic dancer that is fire. Yes fire, that most terrific of mans creations! Also the most vengeful to the touch. Revenge, ’tis a sweet thing. I’ve tasted it a number of times and yet i cannot get enough of it. My dearly departed enemy suffered from my acts of vengeance. Sweet, sugary acts i couldn’t possibly regret.

How do you say it these days? It was a case of ‘he had it coming’. He crossed me and paid for it. A very heavy price indeed. The knife was the paymaster. But i cannot merely throw all of this at you without some form of explanation.

A story, i say! Like the bards of old, i will tell the tale. The previously mentioned drama.

The setting is my very own home city. Among the countless houses our story, my story, begins…

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