The Drabblecast Forums

My stomach hurts. Tension between hunger and anxiety collapsing into superposition. What do they think of my cooking?

Their machine could make a universe. Each person integrating values and concepts, preserving ideas. Right to the end.

Loa Adage sits, head in void-scaled limbs. Ruin came all too quickly. Above, the bright fleet begins its purification.

--Sorry for posting so many! I do one daily, it is fun!--


I am a student shipwright; teachers praise my designs. I have held much back. Mirai must not yet breach the infinite sea.

My heart is lost, my love; ash. Her beauty is now absolute and untouchable. If only we had met while she was still a prince.

She is a sommelier of pain. From the delicate touch of embarrassment to the deep burn of shame, her pairings are perfect.

They said that these days are ours, these happy days. They were not ours, owed as they were to others. That's the real lie.

Is it the memory of pain that makes men fear the fire? Or the love of its warm caress? Conflagration at war with necessity.

Sautrday means omelettes, Sunday; chinese, Monday; work. At what point did my life become a fixed series of vignettes?

Spring is awful, filled with scuttling things and pollen. The trees revenge for the fires burned in winters long night.

They installed treadmills at our desks but I can't complain. HR got it worse, they have a parkour course in the bathroom.

Panic sets in, my life should be in boxes, but it is sits untouched and glaring. Tomorrow is the day, I am not ready to move.

The phone calls the devil, Dan what did you expect?
I expected customer service! They took my soul, but not my questions.

There is a place I go to remember what is important in life. Memory bound in stone and soil. Gravestones are finally still.

The mania faded to a dull pain; the stress bleeding off like an over-saturated watercolor. The damage was already done.

There are parts of me that remain soft. These I guard as they hold memories of the sun and moon. I hope I can forget the rest.

There is a ticking in my house. No clocks make it. The source must be me, memories of love stir the engine of my life to wake.

I woke up feeling diffuse, waves wash over me and I move. I should not be vast. Worn by water the stone of me has become sand.