The cake is a lie.

So I'm a whore.

Tue, 29 Dec 2009 13:54:48 GMT

Or possibly just a tool.

I'm pimping Fetlife's Kinky Santa giveaway.

http://fetlife.com/sit_on_santas_lap
Enjoy, and Happy New Year, all!

Original Cyn Burlesque Hallowe'en!

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 13:45:51 GMT

I know my burleque review posts read like ad copy. Well, I can't help it, I only write them when I'm impresed enough to type stuff after getting home at 4 a.m., instead of flopping into bed.

Last night was Original Cyn Burlesque. I hadn't been in about 2 months, and I really needed to get out. My sweet and lovely friend Victoria joined me gave a definitely positive multiplier to the awesome.

The show was on fire from, quite literally, the first notes The show was on fire from, quite literally, the first notes of Mary Cyn's opening act. Totally bypassing the thinking part of my briain, they reached into my upper spinal column, and from the preverbal soup therein elicited a cry of, "Oh, FUCK yeah!" before I was conscious of it being... "Dig up Her Bones"!

Forget for the moment that Ms. Cyn deservedly bears the title "The Best Ass in Burlesque." Forget the dead-girl-in fishnets look she was sporting*. Forget that she is basically a living jello shot of sex. DIG UP HER fucking BONES! (Yes, yes, I know... it is to post-Danzig Misfits as "Smoke on the Water" is to Deep Purple. So what? Where do you EVER hear it without trying to?!)

Ms. Cyn has done this to me once before. A few months ago, she stepped out -- again on the bar, maybe there's a pattern here -- as the first notes reached into my brain and saying, "Here comes the goods!" pulled out an "Oh, FUCK yeah!" before I was even conscious it was Alice Cooper's "You're My Temptation." (Again, where do you hear that? Other than my apartment, which most of you have never been in?)

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. She won't get me a third time: I have officially dropped all assumption of limits to her Powers of Awesome.

Magdalena Fox. I don't know what this woman's been doing, but this makes twice in a row that I've seen her after she apparently took a level in Baddass. She was never unimpressive, but now I swear that she's some kind of cyborg, and keeps getting piston upgrades about the hips and abs. (She sported a pair of new tattoos since last I saw her, as well -- maybe these are the source of her power.) this is all ignoring the fuckyeahness of her Sandman act (Gaiman meets Metallica FTW!) -- I'll never look at Morpheus the same way again.

Which, in combination with Misfits, prompts me to pimp this:

(Okay, that was totally gratuitous. Danzig wasn't even in the Misfits for Dig up Her Bones. I just <3 that video.)

Victoria Privates' tribute to Silent Hill was... Creepy. Funny. And creepy. Even while I was looking at the rubber bands on the rubber mask from two feet away, it was creepy. That takes some doing.

Apathy Angel. I distinctly remember, the first time I saw this woman perform, quipping to Ms. Cyn, "She's like a cat and a snake had a baby." I stand by this. (In fact, the last time I saw her perform, she did so, very effectively, as a cat.) One of my all-time favorite gogo artists.

Ms. Cyn closed, as always. Trademark campy commentary on the state of mass horror entertainment. (It was a little like watching an actual teen horror movie, only actually funny, with more and better skin, and costing 2 hours and $12.50 less.)

As usual, the host gets rearward mention, on the basis of having an offensive lack of boobs. But the Reverend Burke Heffner was part of the brilliance. I'd never seen him perform before -- I've always happened to missed his shows until now; ever again. I can't find words to explain his act without it sounding lame -- because he takes the sort of thing many have done unimpressively, and infuses it with genius. Well worth the wait.

Bonus, I won the raffle. Double bonus, I effectively won everything -- the previous winner took the cookies and flogger option, but shared the cookies nd I already won a flogger last April. Which left me with a ticket for Hotsy Totsy Burlesque and Shaffer the Darklord's Manslaughterer CD, which I'm going to pop into the drive in about 90 seconds and listen to repeatedly for the next 4 days.

* No necro.

Burning Man Erotica (needs a title)

Fri, 28 Aug 2009 16:28:28 GMT

[This was written to be read aloud in a female voice. I don't usually write erotica; this is special-order for a friend of mine, who's reading it at Burning Man this year. I'm also not a burner, all the information on that I got second- or third-hand; any corrections are welcome, as is any criticism in general. Suggestions for a title are appreciated as well].

It was at the burn, last year. And I know this feels like the hottest ever, but it always feels like that, and it felt just as hot at the time. I think back, and I swear it had to be hotter. We were the only camp on the playa that had a fly bothering us – it must have stowed away in somebody’s bag – and even our fly was too hot to move, which was good because we were too hot to swat it. It only had energy at night and in the morning. At night, we’d be out, and in the morning, we'd be at its mercy, because we were exhausted from the night before, saving our energy for the next, so it had the run of the place.

Of course nobody’d brought anything to spray for bugs. Finally one guy in our camp couldn't take it anymore, said it woke him up buzzing in his ears every morning. So he got some honey from somewhere, and mixed it with E, and spread it on strips of paper that he hung everywhere. It worked; it buzzed around the strips for awhile, like something wasn’t right, but eventually it landed. And soon it was dead. This is your fly on drugs!

So we had no more fly problems, but that didn't make it any less hot.

Anyway, one afternoon most of us were going out early to see some art before a party at a other camp. I was supposed to go too, but I'd only gotten to bed at about noon, so I had a hard time rolling out and no one wanted to wait for me, and I was left by myself. When I heard someone come back in, my head was still in my pillow, and I just told them to forget it and go on without me.

Someone answered. I'd never heard her voice before, and I started up before I realized what she was saying. I still don't remember exactly what it was, something like, “If I'd wanted to do that, I wouldn't have come in.”

I'd seen her before, around the place; she must have been camped somewhere nearby. We'd made eye contact and shared a nod, but we'd never spoken. Tall woman, older than me, I think. Or maybe it was just how she wore the playa; she always seemed weathered, like wood that's been smoothed by sand in the wind.

After a few seconds, she asked, “Do you want me to go?” and I realized I'd just been lying there, staring, as all those thoughts had gone through my head! So, embarrassed and scrambling to sit up, I said, “No! No! Come in!” and I was apologizing and saying god knows what. I remember, I was a little bit scared of her, even though I didn't know why – still don't exactly. She wasn't threatening at all. She just felt... I guess the way the playa does sometimes; there's that feeling it could swallow you up, even sitting right here in camp.

This was the first time I'd seen her so late. Usually when I saw her she was wearing the kind of knee-high boots you could use to crush the skulls of your enemies. Every day a different hat. Now she was barefoot, and wearing biker shorts, a black tank that said “Support Local Music – Fuck a Musician”. Between them, around her navel, was a sunburst tattoo, in black, the rays twisting like tentacles. She wore one of those Crocodile Dundee hats, with the teeth around the rim.

Her hair was black, matte black from the dust – somehow it looked like leather. It was parted in the middle, and a streak of fuchsia hung on each side, from a widow's peak, framing her face. With the dust washed off her face, her skin was almost glowing, and she didn't look much older anymore. Her face was amazing. It was shaped like a heart, and her mouth was a second heart, dark and wet, inside of it.

I wanted to stand, but it felt silly, she'd still be towering over me. She probably wasn't really that tall, but she felt that tall; the way you cast a long shadow at sundown that stretches forever? Except it was like her shadow cast her, and she stretched up to the ceiling. So I just sat, like an idiot, while she walked over and sat down across from me, on a big wooden trunk we were using like a coffee table.

She leaned forward and said, “I've watched you around. You're really pretty.”

Yes, just like that, just like a line from a porn video! And if I'd seen it in a porn video I would have rolled my eyes, or laughed.

But this wasn't a movie. This was me sitting across from her, realizing just then that her eyes were brown and gold like the most gorgeous finished wood. And at the same time smelling the sandalwood under her sweat, or maybe the other way around. And the aesthetics and the physicality and the presence of her, just hit me one-two-three, and I almost didn’t hear what she said next because I was busy watching the shapes her mouth made as she said it.

That must have all been written across my face, because the next thing she said was, “I want to kiss you. But first I want you to kiss me. Now.”

I felt like the fly; her lips hanging there in front of me, glistening, like poisoned honey -- even though I sensed the poison was there, every instinct was telling me to taste. She did... something with her lips, some little pursing quiver, and that was it, I was caught. I leaned forward and tasted. And then I drowned.

I didn't mean to go so far into the kiss so fast, but she just seemed to swallow me up. As soon as my lips touched hers, they melted under me, and parted, and I fell in up to my tongue. Her mouth was on mine like it was trying to swallow me, opening to take in my whole face. Something in me panicked, and wanted to fight back; I bit. And she bit back.

The sudden violence signaled something; her hands had crept into mine, but now they moved and took me by my arms, tight enough to pull me to my feet when she stood, to pull me off my feet; she stood to her full height without breaking our kiss for an instant. As she stepped over my cot, holding me in the air, I remember all I could think of was how strong she was, and soft, at the same time. And then I was against the wall, a foot off the floor, but then my legs were around her waist, which must have helped, because she was able to let go of my arms. I wrapped them around her neck and head, ran my hands over the heart-shape of her face as she wrapped hers around me and dug her nails into my shoulders.

Our mouths wandered more, and I cried out as she bit my neck. I cried out, but I pressed her tighter to me so she wouldn't think she should stop. I'd already started to taste blood, but I didn't now if it was mine or hers, and I realized I was hoping it was both, as if some magic would take over and our flesh would mix the same way.

And maybe it did. One of her hands moved to the back of my head and grabbed my hair; she pulled my head back, hard, exposing my neck, and bit again on the other side -- I knew I'd wear the mark of it for at least a week. Then she pulled back and pushed my hips away, so I fell to my feet, her hand still in my hair. She pulled me down by my hair until I was at her waist, turned my eyes to the drawstring of her shorts, and said, "Take them off."

I would have done it anyway, but with her grip in my hair and her growl in my ear, I fumbled over my own fingers in my rush to please. I pulled them down around her ankles and she stepped out...

Surprise, she wasn't wearing anything underneath! She was trimmed, not shaved, and it her real hair color was reddish brown. That's all I had time to register before she pulled me forward -- I still can't believe how strong she was, with only one arm (I looked up and she was bracing the other against the wall). Then I tasted her again, and my eyes closed and rolled back in my head, and all I knew was taste and touch.

She tasted... god, "musky" is such a cliche, but it's true. Acid, maybe citrus-y And it's crazy but I swear there was something like whiskey! I wanted to wrap my arms around her legs and pull myself closer, but I found I couldn't bring myself to do anything without her telling me to. Instead I just knelt there with my hands in my lap, and let my consciousness flow into my mouth, until it was like I was my mouth.

My need to taste her and my need to please her began to run together, and it was as though I could taste her pleasure; I could tell when my tongue was exactly where she wanted it to be, and that spot at that time always tasted sweetest, and I quickly learned to find that spot as it danced around, to know the right pace, the right speed, the right pressure... When to use my lips, when to use my tongue... inside, outside, all about the town!

When I opened my eyes again, hers were closed, her face halfway between grimace and delight. She wasn't leaning against the wall anymore; She was swaying front to back, her top pulled up and hand on her right breast, twisting her nipple. I wanted to reach up and touch her left, to stroke it, gently, for contrast... but she hadn't told me to, so I didn't. I closed my eyes and went back into my mouth.

Eating her out was like an orgasm; it went on forever, and it was over before I knew it. I know she came... I don't know if it was more than once; if it was, they ran into one another in my mind, which was my mouth. It ended when she pulled my face away from her... I didn't want to stop, but more I wanted to show how well I could behave.

She looked down at me, breathing heavily – I guess we were both breathing heavily – I hadn't really been able to come up for air when I needed. She looked like she was making an effort to focus her eyes. Then she pulled me around by my hair, and pushed me onto my cot. I was shaky, trying to remember how my arms and legs worked, but I got myself onto it, and she dropped to her knees in front of me. Her hat was still on; she swept it off and threw it away with one motion, and with another pushed me back.

I was wearing shorts. Surprise, nothing underneath! I wanted her to tear them off, but she wasn’t urgent anymore, just insistent. I was the fly again, and now she was a spider; I’d taken her poison, and should eat me when as she wanted. I don’t know if she was trying to torture me by taking her time… I like to think she was.

I lay my head back and closed my eyes; it was easier to close them and imagine that watching and waiting. I could feel her breath on my thighs, sending tingling waves over my skin; she was already caressing me with her breath. When she touched me with her hands, the solidness felt so intense that I jumped a little. As she peeled off my shorts she nuzzled my thighs, taking little nibbles with just her lips, whispering into them; I couldn’t really hear them, but it felt like I could read her lips through my skin; she was whispering how beautiful she thought this weird little body of mine is.

She stopped to pull my shorts down, off my legs, but the fabric sliding over my skin was a caress in itself, and a shiver ran up my spine; goose bumps rose on my arms and legs. There couldn’t have been a cold draft in that stifling place, but I felt one as she uncovered me; a sudden breeze as my heat and wetness were exposed to the air.

Then she had them off. I still had my eyes closed, and again I jumped at the shock when her fingers touched me, lightly, running slowly over my lips, then not so lightly, cupping me, spreading me. As they reached inside me my eyes opened wide; my hips rose on their own as my back arched, but she whispered into my skin to relax, so I forced myself to.

When I had, she raised her arms around my legs, hands stroking my hips, and pulled herself closer. My eyes closed again and rolled back as I felt her breath grow closer and hotter, kissing me like ghost lips; and then again the shock of her real lips sent shivers up my spine. Her grip on my hips tightened as she leaned in; her lips parted mine, lightly, and her tongue darted across them just like a light, tender kiss on my mouth. I could help it, I leaned into her a bit, but she didn’t tell me to stop.

My pussy had become like a second mouth, and I was kissing her back; I felt like I could taste her lips, even as I still tasted her on my tongue. I wasn’t afraid of her poison anymore, I wanted it all, wanted to drink it in until everything had gone the black of her hair; I couldn’t think of a better way to die than to drown in her, and part of me felt this was my chance, and hoped I wouldn’t be here anymore when she was done.

But she wasn’t done. Her tongue grew stronger, though she never stopped teasing me with her lips. She chased my the pleasure around my nerves; it couldn’t hide from her tongue for a second, she always found the right spot, the right pressure, licking, flicking, now stroking my clit with her fingers when her mouth was too far away. I felt the waves of sensation building, about to break over me, and I was so ready to come… but she must have felt it too, because that’s when she turned her mouth away, and started nuzzling my thighs again. I slowly came down, but not far. She didn’t let me come down far before she started chasing me back up.

She played with me like that… I don’t now how long. I lost count of the times I almost came – lost the ability to count. Sometimes I actually begged her to let me come, sometimes I lost the feeling of the cot beneath me, or everything but her mouth, and just floated in space. And each time, my need to come was stronger, and each time I was more exhausted. When she finally let me come, it was so weak I could barely react, but it went on forever, a long, low tide that was as much as my nerves could take.

That was it. I’d been running on adrenaline since I heard her voice, and now it was all spent. Everything faded to black. Matter black. Like her hair. My last thought was happiness that there seemed to be no dreams.

I remember the disappointment when I woke up. Disappointment that I had woken up. There’d been no dreams. Just… nothing. And then I opened my eyes and nirvana turned into 96-degree heat, sex dried onto my face and thighs, and a dead fly still stuck to a strip of paper right over my head. I was dehydrated -- it was all I could do to reach a water bottle.

So the poison hadn’t been what I’d hoped. But it was real, because it’s still there. I haven’t seen her this year, but I keep looking, out of the corner of my eye. There’s the thought in the back of my head that maybe next time it will be different. Maybe next time I won’t wake up.

The Death of TMI

Sun, 21 Jun 2009 18:28:55 GMT

He: "I mean, I can't imagine ordering a PBR. If it came down to a PBR or a Budweiser, though, I'd rather have the PBR. At least there's beer in there and not..."

Me: "Piss?"

He: "Actually piss tastes a lot better than Budweiser.

::pause::

Me: "Nope. Still haven't cracked the TMI barrier."

Webcomic!

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 18:35:59 GMT

Hey, all. Yeah, I know, you never see me here. I'm another defector to Facebook, I guess. Seriously, I'll try to waste a little less time there and a little more here.

Anyway, for the 5 or so of you who aren't Facebook friends as well, and so haven't already read this:

I finally got my webcomic up! The Orignal Cyn Webcomic starts here: http://originalcyn.seanminer.com/?id=1 and in theory will update M-W-F.

Those of you not interested in the NYC burlesque scene may find it less than optimally interesting, but hey, it's still seminaked hotties with superpowers, and how can that go wrong? Works for Marvel.

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 17:40:09 GMT

It's not that I can't hold my liquor.
It's only three beers
but three beers times three a.m.
is nine beers...
or nine a.m.
o God,
I need to sleep

parenthetical aside
I want to get a toilet
that shows how much one's peed;
I'd feel like I'm accomplishing something.
parenthetical close

Hola, LJers.

Sun, 19 Apr 2009 23:27:01 GMT

"I've been busy. Not been posting here.

::cricketchirp::

Yes, I've been gone for awhile.

No, I didn't expect you had.

Anyway, I've made a Facebook fan page for my writing, for the two of you who care:

Sean Miner fan page

Up now: "Beast" and Cannibal Love Poems.

Poor Post.

Wed, 01 Apr 2009 14:30:28 GMT

It speaks poorly of the NY Post that they were the giveaway for this prank:

slyypper: so I read in the New York Post today that the city council is passing a special resolution repealing the "pastie ordinance".

captainscorpio: They are???

slyypper: it was in the Page Six section. great cartoon.

captainscorpio: Wow, I should have shouted that out months ago.

captainscorpio: A great cartoon on page 6 of the post? Ah. April Fool's indeed

slyypper: aw heckfire.

Hard Candy Burlesque tomorrow night.

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 19:46:50 GMT

All those reading this who can make it to the LES tomorrow night are strongly encouraged to do so. Cheap, live entertainment by the most entertaining of entertainers.

Seriously, folks. Juliet Jeske, who I've raved about here before -- and for whom I've recently gone from fan to fanboy -- will be hosting in the persona of The Angry Irish Lass, with a special performance of The Whores of Dublin:

NOW how much would you pay?

But wait! Miss Mary Cyn is doing her St. Paddy's act, which I've not seen and don't need to in order to know it will be worth seeing. Also Kat Mandu, Jasmine Blushes, Sizzle Dizzle, Miss Kissy Wishes and a special appearance by Hard Corey. Raffle will be held for ~~Ms. Cyn's~~ Princess Sunshine's fuckawesome homemade cookies.

All for the low, low price of $8 at the door; impress Joe the Shark by greeting him by name without having met him! He'll think you're psychic! Seriously, this beats the price of a movie, and is bound to be more entertaining. Hell, my time finding all the links in this post was worth that, right? Right?

Come on by.

P.S.: I know which of you live in the metro area, and if you don't show I'm going to demand an explanation.

Chess: The Game of Royalty

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 14:57:27 GMT

Anyone read about this in any US papers?

Sat, 07 Mar 2009 22:46:28 GMT

I didn't. How come the Brits are so much better at reporting what's going on over here than we are?

Jailed for a MySpace parody, the student who exposed America's cash for kids scandal

Upshot: Judges Mark Ciavarella and Michael Conahan, in Luzerne County, Pennsylvania, plead guilty to having accepted $2.6 million from the co-owner and builder of a private detention centre where children aged from 10 to 17 were locked up. they sent the kids there. Without representation, without proper procedure. 25% of their juvenal court cases were going to the detention center they'd helped set up, and they were getting kickbacks for it.

Where the fuck is the mainstream press?

Let's get on the President's ass about some things, shall we?

Tue, 03 Mar 2009 19:26:39 GMT

Seriously, folks.

http://www.salon.com/opinion/greenwald/2009/03/02/executive_power/index.html

I know. Greenwald is just a guy with a blog, Salon has no central verification. So how about the San Francisco Chronicle?

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/02/27/MNQI166PAV.DTL&tsp=1

Or the ACLU? (Somewhat different story, same principle.)

http://www.aclu.org/safefree/detention/38782prs20090223.html

What exactly is anyone who decried it from last administration, and defends or ignores it when it's this one?

This may be the most brilliant video I've ever seen.

Sun, 01 Mar 2009 04:29:32 GMT

"Take On Me" is in danger. So is the 2006 version of "Spin Me Round" The music helps.

Pretty much everyone reading this loves Obama...

Wed, 25 Feb 2009 18:18:07 GMT

...so do not be someone who lets love excuse domestic abuse.

http://www.salon.com/opinion/greenwald/2009/02/10/obama/

I voted for him, was relieved when he won, but I've been waiting. I didn't think it would come this fast.

The Obama cult of personality scares the crap out of me... I'm hoping this acts as a speed bump, rather than launching folks to new heights of defense, but I remember NOW backing Clinton in the face of all-too-credible rape allegations, so nothing will surprise me.

"You people elected George Bush: that's the prick I'm gonna yell at. Because my problem is with... authority!"

- Lewis Black

Beirut - Elephant Gun

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 07:06:11 GMT

Loving this.

I recommend to any dramatic dancers who might to be reading this that they consider the trunk in their next act. Totally hot.

Romantic: The Angstening

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 08:13:51 GMT

So today, for the first time since college, I tried reading Keats.

I loved Keatshelley back in college. they were awesome. I wrote Keatshelley pastiches. I fantasized going back in time and telling their little group all about how things had turned out, playing them everything from Skating Away to School's Out to One of Us. Yeah, I was fucked up.

So I tried reading him again today. I couldn't make it through three stanzas, of Ode to a Nightingale, so I tried again, and again. But all I could think was:

"God, he's so fucking emo."

Then, God help me, the question came unbidden, "What would they be doing today?" And I could not shut it out. And the following pretty much streamed into being in my head:

Keats: Hey, man! You’re the first one here!

Shelley: Awesome. Um, hey, Johnny, this is my girlfriend, Mary.

Keats: Oh, hey! Nice to meet you!

Mary: Nice to meet you!!

Keats: Yeah, Percy’s told me all about you.

Mary: [Canoodling Shelley] Awwww!!

Keats: So, um, so you roleplay?

Mary: No! But Percy’s told me all about it, ands it sounds sooo coool! ::bounce::

Keats: Cool! Dude, we’ve got awhile before George gets here, why don’t you help her make a character?

Shelley: Um. Okay. Well, we’re playing Archons: the Fallen. We play these angels—

Keats: Archons!

Shelley: Right, well, these archons, that are like angels, but, uh, not. And we have to wander the Irth gaining Redemption while trying to avoid gaining Corruption.

Mary: Wow! Can I be an angel of dreams? That would be so awesome!

Keats: An Archon of the Dominion of Morpheus.

[Doorbell rings]

Keats: I’ll get it, that’s probably George.

Shelley: Okay. Well, sure, you can play that. Here, you’ve got seven points to arrange on these stats…

Byron: [Entering with Keats] Yo, dude! Hey, who’s the chippie?

Shelley: Oh, hey, man. This is my girlfriend, Mary.

Byron: Fuckin’ A, man! See what happens when you leave your bedroom?

Shelley: Mary, this is George.

Byron: Fuck you, man!

Shelley: Oh, right, sorry. George likes to be called Byron.

Mary: That’s cool! Um, why?

Byron: Because Byron’s cool, duh!

Keats: Okay, Mary, is your character finished?

Byron: Oh, fuck, no, man, you’re not bringin’ your girlfriend in that game, are you?

Shelley: Well, come on, dude, you were just complaining last week about how there aren’t enough girls playing.

Byron: What’s ‘cause I want some chicks to hit on! It’s not doing me any good to have your girl here. You two wimp down the game enough. [to Mary] No offense.

Mary: Well I’m not going to wimp down the game, Mister Byron…

Byron: That’s Lord Byron!

Mary: [pause] Is he serious?

Shelley: Well, yeah…

Mary: You call him that?

Shelley: No. Not… much.

Keats: Yeah, usually we just say “dude.”

Mary: Okay, you guys call each other whatever. Do I have to fill out all these skills now?”

Keats: No, we can introduce you now, you can settle on that later. I don’t use the numbers much anyway.

Byron: That’s ‘cause he always pussies out when a fight comes up.

Shelley: Dude, I’m playing an Archon of Suffering, I have to cherish whatever punishment anyone wants to give me!

Byron: Fine, so you’re not a pussy, your character is.

Mary: What kind of angel are you playing?

Keats: Archon!

Byron: I’m not! I’m playing a Wamphyr!

Mary: Oh. I didn’t know you could play that!

Keats: Well, it’s from another game…

Byron: Yeah! I’m playing my character from Wamphyr: The Angst! She’s a lesbian Baristess of Clan Elwyrd – the Carnal Wamphyrs!

Mary: Wow, that sounds kind of cool!

Byron: Yeah, and it’s a good thing, because nobody else in this game can do shit, they just sit around bemoaning everything.

Shelly: Archon of Suffering! Which word didn’t you understand?

Mary: Well I’m going to do stuff!

Keats: Yes you are! Okay, um.. what’s your character’s name?

Mary: Melanaysia!

Keats: Wow, that’s pretty cool! Okay, well, you’ve just completed the Trial of Silver Fire and been found worthy of assignment on Irth. You’re going to be partnered with an experienced Archon, who will guide you as you learn the ways of mortals.

[to Shelley] Okay, so Silenus has been given an opportunity to serve the Presence.

Shelley: Awesome! That’s gonna be some sweet Redemption!

Keats: Yeah, since you’ve avoided Corruption for the past three games, your assignment will be to guide one of the Unfallen as she learns the ways of the mortal realm.

Shelley: What? You’re letting her play an Unfallen?

Keats: Well, dude, it’s only for one game, right?

Mary: Oh. [looks disappointed]

Keats: Um, well. I mean, I didn’t know you wanted to play a regular character. I thought you were just here because you were hanging out with Percy.

Mary: Oh, no, I’ve been wanting to play for ages!

Keats: Oh. Well, dude, do you mind her playing an Unfallen?

Shelley: Uh, well, I guess not. I was just surprised, that’s all.

Keats: What about you, Byron?

Byron: Look, I don’t care what you guys do, I’m here for blood and love!

Mary: Yaaay!!!!

Keats: Okay, then, so you two can interact.

Byron: Am I there?

Keats: Did Silenus bring Camilla?

Shelley: Uh, sure, why not? He doesn’t have Drive Car, so he can use a ride.

Keats: Okay, so you are presented with your new charge, Melanaysia. Um, can you describe her?

Mary: Um, okay, so she looks kinda like a young Avril Lavigne, with loooong hair in Princess Leia braids.

Byron: You mean those buns?

Mary: No, like in Jedi.

Keats: [pause] You mean Slave Girl Leia?

Mary: Yeah!

Shelley: Does… she wear the rest of the outfit, too?

Mary: Ew, gross! Of course not! No, she’s wearing practical stuff, like explorer stuff.

Byron: Like... uh… Lara Kroft?

Mary: I guess…

Byron: Oh, hells yeah! Camilla steps up. “Hey, angel!” she says with a smile. “Welcome to Irth!” And she’s got an 8 Appeal.

Keats: Don’t lie, she’s only got like a 5!

Byron: She’s using Preternatural Smarminess 3.

Shelley: That only works on guys!

Byron: It works on anyone who’d find her attractive.

Keats: [exchanged glances with Shelley] Um. Mary, is your character… into… girls?

Mary: Well, why not? She’s an Archon, right? She’s a spiritual creature, so why should physical gender mean anything to her?

Byron: That’s what I’m sayin’!

Mary: [to Byron] “Thank you! Can you show me around?”

Byron: “Oh, I got plenty of sights for you to see!”

Mary: “Well, that’s good. And I can help make your dreams come true!”

Byron: “That’s what I’m countin’ on!” Camilla tells Selinus he can ride in the back seat.

Shelley: Um… babe, I’m a little uncomfortable with this.

Mary: It’s just a game, Percy!

Byron: Yeah, man, stop being such so damn insecure. [to Keats] I pump The Misfits on the car speakers!

Beast. (Fiction . Criticism welcome.)

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 00:04:30 GMT

This was inspired by something love_hate_rape wrote. I hope she thinks it was worth the wait.

Valentine's day seems an appropriate day to have finished it.

Beast

Embedded version:

Publish at Scribd or explore others: Short Stories Creative Writing Beast

</lj>

Grace wants one of these.

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 22:31:35 GMT

Well, not specifically. I want this, specifically.

She's been reading "The Tarantula Scientist", and wants a tarantula. I had one once, long ago; a Chilean Rose. That's what we'll probably get her, if we decide to -- cheap, docile and usually bred in captivity rather than taken from the wild. The Cobalt Blue (Haplopelma lividum), below, is not recommended for novices -- expensive, and known for being both fast and aggressive.

But it's isn't she gorgeous?

EDIT: I really didn't write this post with this in mind, but... crap. Fast, aggressive, gorgeous, bites, and I want it. I'm seeing a pattern here.

Pandora makes me happy.

Mon, 02 Feb 2009 22:58:36 GMT

Was bummed: Probably not going to Original Cyn tonight, as has become my biweekly custom. Fortunately, my Duran Duran station never fails to pick me up. Anyone wants me to share it, send my the email address you use for Pandora. Seriously. It's awesome.

Soon as I can stop listening to it, I gotta start a Tom Jones station.

Bad Poetry Alert

Sun, 01 Feb 2009 06:23:40 GMT

Intentionally so, for once. Someone on another site asked for contributions of bad poetry, so I came up with the following gems:

I

Like shattered mirrors of my soul,
my broken dreams lie gasping,
gaping fish-mouthed
in the cold, dry air of reality.

II

Rain pounds my windowpane hard and strong, unwavering,
striking like the seed of angels
masturbating furiously.
granting me this gracious gift:
their heavenly climax.
Would that my mind were as fertile.

III. Senses (a tryptich in verse)

I smell you now
coming to bed
sneaking in late
thinking you're smart
never stopping
to consider
your true lover
whose scent still clings:
garlic pizza

*************

first sight I see
in the morning
your silhouette
curve of your hip
making a hill
swell of your breasts
makes a valley
rise of your butt
a great mountain
I tell you this
your fist strikes me

*************

my tongue knows you
drinks in your skin
crease of your neck
my lips suck in
the sweet nectar
of your moistness
tangy, musky
all I can want
all I can ask
is every day
wear mango juice

Playing the Grace Card

Sat, 31 Jan 2009 05:02:21 GMT

So we're on our way home from Grace's therapy today. We're in one of the neighborhood veggie stores (carrots are finally out of their 2 lbs/$ phase, dammit) when she asks the question -- no doubt spurred by something she'd seen on the subway ride. As usual, she seems to choose her words carefully:

"How come, when you see poor people, they're usually black?"

I like to think I recovered gracefully:

"That's a great question, honey. We'll discuss it at home."

"Why?"

"Because it's the kind of discussion we have at HOME!"

So. She's finally starting to catch on. As far as I've been able to tell, last last year was the first she even knew black and white meant anything beyond literal colors. (When she was 4 or so she once referred to people "with all brown faces and bodies." That's as close as she ever came. She seemed to be only referring to two specific little girls, and was surprised when I pointed out that that described most of the people in our neighborhood.)

I think that's been a good thing -- the end of it was inevitable, but I wanted her to develop without preconceptions for as long as possible. She's always lived here, in the Bronx, and the number of other white kids she can name she can probably count on one hand -- it's been important that she's never seen any divide between herself and her best friend. Or any of her friends. And it's worked; from what I can tell (and I've been watching), she has no conception that any person can be inherently worth more than any another, on any basis.

To this end, I cheated a bit on Martin Luther King day. When we were discussing why he was significant, I talked about how he helped unify and fight for the rights of people who had long been unfairly treated. But I didn't say who those people were. Now I've got to figure out how to condense the last 400 years into a conversation that leaves her with an accurate, not-oversimplified view of the subtleties of today's situation.

"Racism". "White privilege". "White guilt." These concepts have no meaning to her. Almost certainly they will make no sense to her, either. How do I explain irrationality on such a grand scale to someone who has managed until now to stay uniquely rational?

Man, it's gonna be a tough weekend.

I've got a story.

Thu, 29 Jan 2009 02:50:42 GMT

Wrote it ages ago. I've touched it up. But I can't think of a good market for children's short fiction. It's too long for a picture book, too short for a book in its own right. I am unaware of any children's short-fiction anthologies with new material instead of classics. Any ideas?

(If anyone wants, I'll post it on a filter. If I can figure out how to do that.)

Original Cyn 1/19 (late)

Thu, 22 Jan 2009 12:50:04 GMT

So, this is late. In part, way late. So I suck. You already knew that.

I went to Original Cyn on Monday. The usual fun, but a slightly less pressing crowd made for better viewing. The host this time 'round was Schaffer The Darklord*. Performing in a terpsichorean capacity were, of course, Mary Cyn and Reckless Abandon (who is clearly too much of a pen & ink girl to have a MySpace), joined by relative newcomers to the scene Victoria Privates and Viola.

Ms. Cyn opened once again, with a somber tribute to our then-departing Commander-in-Chief. This girl is a professional, ladies and gents: despite her obvious grief over our nation's loss, she managed a huge grin, and an energy that I'd never seen in her before. Oh, and she absolutely rocks a suit ad tie (in entirely the opposite way of Radclyffe Hall).

Ms. Privates followed. A fun number where her winter wardrobe fought Jack Frost and lost. This petite girl is the optimal mix of hot and cute, and somehow managed to make otherwise creepy tentacle tattoos adorable -- she truly puts the Love in Lovecraft.

Before intermission, STD entertained again with one of his trademark nerd raps. Which was hilarious. Seriously, go see this guy when you get a chance. But be warned... I was later surprised to find that someone so witty and self-effacing could be such an asshole backstage. Total prick. Seriously, whatever you do, do not let him hug you. Do not let him hug you! I had to bathe with bleach to feel clean again...

I lost the raffle again. Good haul this week, too. On the bright side, for my tickets Ms. Abandon slipped me the King and Queen of Hearts. And we all know that what signifies right**? Damn straight.

In fact, Ms. Abandon was next. I had Cody as my designated poker, in case he noticed me neglecting to breathe, so I felt safe. She told a tale of injustice -- the belle of the ball unable to get any attention (one did have to suspend disbelief a bit for that), and shedding her gown in frustration. (Am I biased toward Ms. Abandon's performance? Maybe. But if a bias is reasonable, is it a bias at all? Discuss.)

Then there was Viola. For someone who describes herself as a "burlesque aspirant"... let's say she certainly aspires well. Classically femmy, curves like a... okay, honestly, metaphor fails -- I don't know much that's that curvy. All presented with that wonderfully contradictory demureness that is the soul of classical ecdysiasm***.

As last show, Ms. Cyn closed, dancing the story of a hapless waif lured by desperation into a life of of stripping and more sordid activities. She tends to not have much tolerance for stops, and the sensitive man in me found the tale a little disturbing, while Captain Scorpio thought it both hot and cleverly executed.

Then Schaffer was back with more rap -- his classic tribute to nerdy girls. To which I say: indeed, dude. Indeed.

I left earlier than last time, having stuff to do. Pity. Once again, anyone with access to Park Slope on the first or second Monday of the month, I'd encourage you to drop by.

The hooch is pretty cheap, too.

* Yes, I know articles should not be capitalized; thanks. It's his thing. "STD", get it?

** They were at the top of the deck at the time.

*** Look it up, bitch. And look up "callipygian" while you're at it, save time later.

Alright. I saw the Inauguration.

Wed, 21 Jan 2009 22:05:32 GMT

About 12 hours after most of you did, but I saw it. It wasn't bad. He was pretty gracious in victory without caving on anything. Didn't pander much. Pretty damn good speech.

The poem wasn't great, though of course I liked the "love beyond marital, filial, national... love with no need to preempt grievance" part. Maybe it was all in the secular-college-Catholic-community-homily delivery. Anyway, I know I kept wishing sadisticseraph were up there instead, with something about Hope and Sweat and Orgasm. Just as well, I guess; it wouldn't have done to upstage Michelle's booty on her husband's big night. On the other hand, if one in fifty people can remember anything about Bush's inaugural poem (was there even one? I'm kinda working on assumption here), I'll be very surprised. so maybe it's still below par.*

I can't talk about the inauguration, of course, without linking to Something Positive. I'm not, needless to say (I'd hope), trying to figure a way to blame him. I'm hoping nothing goes wrong (in a maybe-they'll-cure-aging-before-I-get-too-old sorta hope). I'm just sitting here waiting to see how bad the inevitable ends up being.

* Remember how golf works; it's good to be below par.

My surrealism quota for the year has already been reached.

Tue, 20 Jan 2009 18:37:43 GMT

Okay. The other night, I was on Quickmatch, on OKCupid, out of boredom. One in particular I gave high ratings too -- bi/kinky/poly, has several similar interests, lives in New York, and has done burlesque, in which I've recently gotten really interested. Next night, I got high looks and personality ratings back from her, and we send a few messages back and forth. After a bit, she gave me her number, which, after putting the cubs to bed, I called.

We clicked, I think, pretty amazingly. Almost everything one of us said seemed to be answered with "You too?! " or "Oh my god, yes, I know exactly what you mean!"

The subject of kink was raised. In the discussion of said topic, I mentioned that most people I meet lately seem to be part of the BDSM/kink community (last year was goths, this year is kink). Then I whipped out my big amusing isn't-OKC-an-incestuous-little-site coincidence story. (Names changed in the unlikely event those involved would find it inappropriate.)

Me: So I was talking to someone who I knew had gone to a play party in New Jersey the night before, and said that I knew someone else who'd been to one in Brooklyn the same night. And she says, "My friend Peter had a party in Brooklyn last night!"

[Peter, of course, being the very person to whom I was referring (actually, his wife, but, same party). That's basically that story -- hah-hah, they knew one another. But...]

Her: "You know Peter!?"

Me: ::pause:: "Wait. Are you asking me that?"

Her: "Yes!"

Me: ::blink:: "Um. Peter from Park Slope?"

Her: "Yes!!"

Me: ::blink:: "Well... I know his wife..."

Her: "LIZ!"

Me: "Yeah, Liz!"

Her: "That's Liz in the picture!" (I'm looking at her MySpace page.)

Me: "Oh my God! That's Liz! That's her in the middle!"

Just then her husband comes to drag her off to bed. Hanging up, I think, Wow! That was really amazing, and what a weird coincidence!

Then I think, And I'm never going to talk to her again! Because she's going to tell her husband and he, being an intelligent human being, is going to tell her that it sounds like I found out all this stuff about her ahead from Liz, and stalked her! And that will be a perfectly sensible suspicion!

That's certainly what I'd immediately think, anyway. Maybe he's smarter or more fair-minded than I am.

I hope she didn't decide this, of course. I've messaged her once since then, with a question (after I realized that, in the course of our hour-and-a-half conversation, I'd neglected to get her real name), and she answered, so we'll see.

Anyway, that was possibly the most surreal moment of my life. And, Peter... I salute you.