Sure, The Simpsons did it. Sure, there’s probably many other people who’ve done it too…but here’s a complete form of Jingle Bells with a Batman theme. Because I’m a nerd and I’d nothing better to do in the shower/at the bus-stop/on the bus this morning.
Jingle bells, Batman fells
Villains every day
Sometime he gets help from Supes
Or the JLA. Read the rest of this entry »
A crack. A sting. Awake.
His eyes opened, but there was nothing to see. It was dark, that cold, deep dark where barely a crack of light enters, where everything seems to be absorbed by the darkness itself, like some solid mass. Someone was on top of him: he could feel their pressure as they leaned over his chest, their arms on his shoulders, the warmth of their flank just next to his hips.
“Shh, do not speak. If they hear you, they will come for, take you down there. You do not want that.” Read the rest of this entry »
It was a pressure that woke her, a sensation like falling and her legs flailed as she tried to balance herself. There was no need: she was lying on a bed, the pressure was caused by a woman leaning over her, with her knee pushing against the mattress.
Sofia’s head still ached. She wanted to rub her hand against her forehead, but there was a pain in her left wrist which she didn’t want to acknowledge. But now, the woman was resting a cold, clammy hand against her forehead.
She was in her forties, and wore a tight white dress: Sofia didn’t need more information to figure out she was in a hospital bed.
“You might want to stay where you are for a little bit, you had a fairly bad trip.” Read the rest of this entry »
It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, so you’ll have to excuse the first-draft-iness of it all. But the creative juices started flowing last night and resulted in this.
But seriously, ignore the first-draft-iness.
***
It was dark when the doors opened, just like it always was: the automatic lights would take a few more seconds to turn on, activated as the elevator arrived at its floor. The uneasy fingers of gravity played with her stomach and chest: the ride to the ninty-sixth floor was always a bit too fast for her liking, but she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, and although she was afraid to check the time on her watch, she knew it was nearly midnight.
The lights overhead flickered slowly into life, and she stepped into the corridor. They would only be bright enough to help her find her way to the door: it took close to five minutes for the bulbs to illuminate fully, although it only took thirty seconds to get to the front door of her apartment.
Sofia Hastings was twenty-nine years of age, soon to be thirty, though she didn’t like to think too much about that. It was a young age to be the owner and sole inhabitant of a penthouse apartment in one of the most exclusive buildings in London. The lift and stairs were in a glass corridor connecting two hub buildings: Sofia’s apartment was to her right, one of two on the top floor of South Block.
There was a full moon outside, shining like a beacon in the dark over the city’s landscape. She thought she saw flames and smoke in the distance, but she ignored them all as she turned towards her apartment: it was nothing she hadn’t seen before, and she was more interested in food and her bed, her only solace being that, being a Friday night, she could sleep late the following morning.
There was a cough from in front of her as she approached her door: a man in dressed all in black stepped away from the wall and moved slowly towards her.
“Ms Hasting,” he said, partly a question, but more of a statement. “We need to talk.”
Below is the prologue to something I started writing a few years ago, a novel going under the working title of The Magician’s Kiss. Again, I have to say that this is a very early draft, but something I’ve been thinking of going back to.
So if you like it, let me know: I’ll go back, work on it some more and maybe even finish writing it some time soon.
When is art not art?
When it’s being argued over by people who have missed the point.
Roger Ebert recently stated that video games can never be art, a piece largely condemned by sites and other media that count themselves as “gamers.” Most of them have missed the point entirely of Ebert’s comments, and turned it into an opportunity for personal attack on the man, the most vile and loathsome of which that I’ve seen thus far coming from Penny Arcade, likening Ebert’s piece to reeking ejaculate.
Tycho’s rant has all the bumbling zeal of a six-year old who has just discovered he can use big words to offend people but, much like he accuses Ebert of doing, he also totally misses the point.
Ebert’s article, originally a response to a TED talk by Kellee Santiago, might be flawed, but he raises some valid questions and points, which have been largely ignored by commentators quick to jump to condemnation. Ebert is prepared to engage with the question of “what is art?” while many who responded to his piece do so only to defend their beloved games, little realising the larger debate in which they are partaking.
Ultimately, you can’t argue that something isn’t art without having a checklist against which to score it, condemning it to not be art when it fails to make a passing grade.
So…what is art?
Obsoletism is a short story I wrote a few years ago, mostly as a challenge to myself to see what I could do. It started as a diary piece, and then turned into the dialogue below (so maybe short story isn’t the best definition, but I’m going with it for now.)
As far as fiction goes, I don’t really believe in final drafts, and having a look at this, there’s still some changes I’d make if I were going back to rework it now. But I’m not going to.
This is also just the first part of it. If people enjoy it, or want to know more, I’ll post the rest later on.
Not to get existential or that, but my name’s floating up there at the top of the page…it’s usually a good place to start.
Chances are, most of this biographical content is going to end up on the About page, but until then, you’ve got a first post to amuse you.
I’m the editor and general dogsbody over at BurnAllZombies, so you might see some stuff related to movies, video games, comics, books etc over there. This, however, is going to be a slightly more personal site. Don’t worry, the names will be changed to protect the innocent, but this site will play home to some fictional works and other entries that don’t quite come under the auspices of entertainment or reviews.
First up, I’ll be posting extracts from a short story I wrote last year, Obsoletism. I’ll put the first few hundred words up later this evening and, if people like it, I’ll put the full thing up.
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