Living on Earth

Random Update 2, Art 5: So here's how it was...

2011-07-31T20:48:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the long, absence. I've done some pretty awesome things I think in that time away from you all!

I've completed my first weekend at a Con as an artist, and my second as a staff member. It is definitely a little harder to help work a con and sell art. For my first time selling anything I think I did okay, and hopefully by Neko Con I will have much better art to sell to the public.

The first print I sold was one I didn't believe would sell at all. It was an old Raziel (Soul Reaver) picture that I made way back after Legacy of Kain: Defiance came out. Oddly enough it was bought by a really pretty girl dressed as Old School Lara Croft. "Fucking Eidos FTW!!!" She stood in front of my half of table for a while just staring at it. When I told her I had only printed out the one copy, she made her friend by it for her and she took it off the board and walked away cradling it lovingly. This happened at 10pm on friday after I expected not to sell anything the first day. It made me feel really good not just because I sold it, but because someone I didn't know thought that he was awesome just like me.

In other news my first short story will be published very soon in a Blood Bound Books anthology called "Steamy Screams". In case you can't tell the theme is Dark Erotica. My story is the one titled "Pins and Needles" so check it out if you're into that particular genre! I'm really excited about the things I'm doing now. Next thing on my list is to work on more short stories, and my next con will be NekoCon in Norfolk, Virginia.

Here are a few of the pics I printed out to sell.

This one took a little while to finish, and I should probably fix the highlights on this. I didn't sell this one, probably because the "druggy" look was a little much. But who doesn't want to see Tifa in a nurse outfit. Besides... Cloud got 'mako poisoning' a lot... a lot.

Phenomenal Woman, that's me

This one was drawn to go with Maya Angelou's poem, Phenomenal Woman. I actually made this a 5x7 Print, but someone paid me more to print it out as an 8x11. I was really happy how much he liked it.

"I am as I always have been; your right hand..."

Raziel... I will never print out another one of these. I want that Lara Croft to have the only copy of this picture. This just became a very special memory for me now.

Everyone needs to cuddle...

This one I did two years ago and colored last year. I always kind of liked it. I guess it's because I've been looked upon as something that's a little scary. But everyone needs a hug. And I happen to love hugs!

Would you like a hug?

See you soon
-Gen/ J. Summerset-

Short Story 6

2011-04-29T03:04:00.000-07:00

Calx Reproba

By: J. L. J.

He kicked his legs looking out over the water sadly. There was no telling when he would be able to go now. He had spent ages saving up for this flight. He had promised her a trip to see the Russian Ballet, and damn it all he had every intention of keeping his word. He could at least do this for her. He had never done anything else she had asked of him, he wanted to at least do this. Matthew hurled the empty liquor bottle into the Atlantic Ocean without remorse and opened the next. He intended to get as drunk as he could to forget that he had failed again. He had no idea they were going to try and foreclose on the house. It seemed so random. He couldn’t think of a single time he had missed a payment, but there it had been in black and white. Pay us this much or we’ll take everything you worked for…
He gulped down his cheap whiskey and paused to let it burn away his thoughts. Nope, no dice, still thinking… he thought bitterly. Matt took another chug and listened to the constant roll of the waves. He pulled his feet up onto the weathered planks and tried to stand without tipping over into the water. Now for the hard part… He thought as he began to weave his way up the dock to the shore. It wouldn’t have been too hard, not really. After six years in the Navy he could get around real well near water, drunk or sober. When he hit the side street he walked past the people wandering about the docks and headed for the main road. As he stepped out on the road he froze at the sudden suffocating darkness. He jerked his head up to see the sky and saw nothing. A punch to the gut told him someone threw a bag over his head. A pipe hit him behind the knees and he sunk to the ground hard. Matthew grasped about for a loose stone in order to defend himself but a final blow to the head accomplished what one and a half bottles of whiskey couldn’t, he was no longer thinking.

       Blurry dim vision… He found himself in a small dingy room that held only one person he was sure was out of reach. He tried to shake the booze fog from his eyes and really get a good look at the guy across from him.
       “Must ‘ave been a zerious blow to make you drink like zat…” the man said. His vision cleared just enough to see he had very dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. For some reason everything about this man made him think of Inspector Clouseau. Matthew just knew that was the booze talking. “You zeem like a man down on ‘iz luck. What if I could ‘elp you?” the man asked. His accent was so heavy that Matt began to really wonder if he were in the states anymore. Matt tried to raise his hands to rub his eyes and found they were tied to the back of the chair.
       “Uh, Mr. Le Pew would you mind untying my hands? I’m starting to get a killer hangover.” He growled. The man only smiled and nodded to someone behind him. The bonds were cut none too gently and he began to massage his temples. When Matt felt clear enough to attempt a conversation he looked at the man in front of him. Still fuzzy, he thought. “Is that your real accent? I mean it’s really thick; like you never set foot out of France.”
       “It iz not of any importanze. You will lizten to my propozition, yez?” He asked kindly. “I will offer a lot of money.” Matthew stared at the Frenchman silently. He was sober enough to know that it was a bad idea to do anything this man asked him. However he was depressed enough to convince himself that it might be okay. Matt leaned back in the metal folding chair and cleared his throat.
       “Why don’t you tell me why you chose me first?”
       “Becauze…”
       “I don’t know how it works in your country, but in America ‘because’ is not an answer. So, why me?” Matt asked calmly. The Frenchman laughed and shook his head with mirth.
       “Americanz alwayz think everyzing should be done zeir way. I will play zis game. I chose you becauze I know your employer. He confided in me what ze mortgage company did to you and about how you were zaving zat money for your wife. A trip to Moscow you were going to take, yez?” The man sipped at what was presumably tea in front of him and stared at him with clear blue eyes. Too blue… he thought. It was the blue of a coral reef in the Caribbean, the blue of a chlorinated pool. Did his boss really know this guy, did his boss really tell him about Matt’s problem? It had to be true, how else would he know all this stuff? Matthew thought about his boss’s easy nature and kind smile. He was the kind of guy you could count on to back you up when shit hit the fan. And seeing as shit had just hit the fan…
       “What do you want me to do exactly? Not saying I’ll do it, but, what am I supposed to do?”

       The Mona Lisa really isn’t all that awesome. He thought to himself slowly. He tilted his head to see what the appeal was of that little fake smile. His wife gave him that smile sometimes, when he disappointed her and she didn’t want to tell him that. He scratched his head and turned away from the woman in the frame. He clutched the brief case to his side and sighed as he wove his way through the tourists and art buffs. The Frenchman had told him simply to wait at the Louvre and someone would find him to make a simple exchange.
       “You want me to be a smuggler?” He had asked.
       “I like to zink of it az an importer of high end goodz.”
       He also told him the gem in the case was very important. Calx Reproba he had called it. As he didn’t speak Latin it didn’t mean anything to him other than the fact that it was Latin. He found himself in front of a painting of a nude boy sitting by the sea with his face on his knees. That boy looks like I feel… Matthew stood there for a moment and just wondered when he could leave this place and go home. Then came the feeling; that feeling you get when more than one set of eyes are on you. He stood straight and turned to scan the crowd. Police…there were police dotted in the crowd here and there, even a few in street clothes.
       “Pardon s'il vous plaît…” he heard from behind him. Matt turned around and a man who was obviously a detective was showing him his id. The man spoke in a tone that could only mean ‘come with me please’. “J'ai besoin vous à suivre.” He said slowly, gesturing behind him. Matthew sighed angrily and handed him the case. The police officer seemed pleased that he was not going to struggle and that was when Matt took off running. Weaving in and out of the crowd he could hear a stampede of feet behind him shouting and most likely cursing. He whipped around a corner and exploded out the door he came in only to see his ride peel off. He had been set up. Not knowing what else to do, Matthew sat on the curb and waited for the police to catch up to him. He was starting to hate Paris.

       He told them over and over he didn’t know anything about what was in the case, however when the man came in and told them all the stone was fake he couldn’t help but to laugh hysterically.”
      “Fuckin’ figures…” He said. The detective that he had handed the case to seemed to be of the same opinion. He growled at the translator they had brought in and waved at him in a disgusted manor.
       “Ils utilisée les idiote voici à apporter dans une simuler , tant que ils ont apporté dans les véritable pierre quelques-unes autre voie.” The translator nodded and turned to him a little sadly.
        “He zayz zey gave you a fake, and brought ze real ztone in zome ozer way.”
       “Again I say it fuckin’ figures.” Another officer came in with a book of photographs of criminals and the detective pointed to it and to him angrily. The translator shook his head and smiled a Matt gently.
        “He wantz you to zee if you recognize any of zese people.” Matt stared down at the book and the detective flipped open a notepad. He flipped and stared and shook his head no for about five pages until he came across a very familiar mustache and eyes that were way too blue.
       “Him, he was the one who gave me the job. He knew all sorts of personal stuff about me…” Matt’s voice trailed off as he looked at the page on the left. It was his boss. His hair was darker in this photo, but there was no mistaking that easy going smile and those kind eyes. The translator and the detective watched him carefully and waited. “He’s my boss in the states. I work security on the docks where he stores imports and exports before they get shipped. That’s my fucking boss.” The detective seemed to take on a look of pity when the translator told him what was said. He turned to another officer and spoke low.
       “Maintenant nous savons que ils étaient obtenir une tenir bon ceux-ci joyaux.” The officer nodded and turned to Matthew who seemed to be in a state of shock.
       “We need ze addrezz of ze dockz you work at. We muzt notify your government, immédiatement.” Matt nodded and pulled out his wallet shakily. Whipping out the card he carried he handed it to the officer and looked back down at the book. He wondered who else he would know in there, and like a man possessed he turned the page again. There she was, like the Mona Lisa with her little fake smile. Her hair was red here, and she had on some stupid hat. It all fell into place. What better way to find the perfect fall guy than to make him yourself? Then you can keep him on the bench until you need him for that perfect shot. The translator watched as tears began to stream down Matt’s face and slid tissue across the table. The man looked down at the book and sighed.
       “Do you know ‘er too?” He asked softly.
       “She’s my wife.” Matt whispered. The man blanched and tugged on the coat of the inspector beside him, repeating what was just said. The detective only shook his head and patted Matt’s shoulder. He said something to the translator and he nodded turning to Matt sadly.
       “Zose zree ‘ave alwayz worked togezer. Zey are ‘ard to catch.” Matt just nodded and suddenly he understood the little fake smile. It wasn’t a smile of disappointment. It was a smile that said I have a secret; something I can’t share with you. He began to laugh again as he slammed the book closed. The officers all stared at him, the ultimate fool, with unspoken pity. As he slammed his head on the desk in defeat, he wondered what the hell Mona Lisa was hiding.

***

Rough Translations: As I don’t speak it at all…

Pardon s'il vous plait- Excuse me please
J'ai besoin vous à suivre- I need you to follow me
Ils utilisée les idiote voici à apporter dans une simuler , tant que ils ont apporté dans les véritable pierre quelques-unes autre voie- They used the idiot here to bring in a fake, while they brought in the real stone some other way.
Maintenant nous savons que ils étaient obtenir une tenir bon ceux-ci joyaux- Now we know how they were getting a hold on these gems.

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Hope you enjoyed this. This was another one I posted for a LJ competition. I didn’t win this one either but I’m still pretty fond of the story.

See you soon

-Gen

Random Update 1: Busy

2011-04-06T23:13:00.000-07:00

Hey all-

Sorry for the long absence; I see I lost a couple people but that's cool.
I've been working on these posters and a few other items trying to make them worth selling. It's a bit harder than I would like it to be, but anything worth doing is worth doing right as they say. I've also been working on a few short stories for submitting.

This is one of the characters I'm doing artwork of... RESPECT THE JEM!

I've been reading a lot of journals off and on even if I haven't been commenting like I should, just know I'm thinking about you guys. (Cause that doesn't sound creepy...)

Hopefully next week I will be at a place that I can update more frequently or at the very least, start commenting again so I can keep all these lovely blog friends that so kindly look at my page from time to time. I see a lot has occured in my absence; I noticed I missed Rachel's second challenge (curses...) but that's okay. I WILL TRY TO BE BACK FOR THE THIRD DAMMIT!

Apparently this is poetry month. Has anyone posted any lovely poems to celebrate? It's been a long time since I've written one...

See you soon,

-Gen

Random Thoughts 6: Happy Liquor Day...I mean ...um...

2011-03-17T17:19:00.000-07:00

HOW DO YOU GUYS DO IT?

How do you guys manage to keep up with so many blogs, and update your own so often?
Sorry I've been silent for awhile. I'm trying to find a way to keep up with the blogs of my fellow crusaders and the ones I find just plain interesting...(clothes, godzilla, art, videogames). It's not easy.

That aside Happy St. Patrick's Day. This is actually one of my favorite days because I get to wear green and drink. There is nothing more awesome than that. I've started drawing things for sale at Otacon this July so tell me what you think of these ideas for pictures:

Snorks vs. Smurfs in a 300 style picture: The snorks will play the role of the Spartans because there are less of them.

He-man and She-ra vs. Conan the Barbarian and Red Sonya

Jem and the Holograms having an american idol style competition with Josie and the Pussycats, (And maybe Jabberjaw's band)

What do you guys think of those?

Good luck finding your pots of Gold!

See you soon
-Gen

Random Tales from my Life 4: Horror

2011-03-04T20:50:00.001-08:00

     I saw my first horror movie when I was 5 years old. My half sister stayed with us during her tomboy phase and together we watched “Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors.” In that short amount of time I learned two things, 1- I loved the way Freddy operated, and 2- I loved horror movies. I loved the crazy red color of movie blood, I loved the way the dumb girl in all the movies would always fall and most of the time maim their ankles in some insane way. I loved it when the couple who snuck off to make out (and sometimes other) always got killed. (I was five remember, “Boys are gross”). I loved the monster make up on zombies and werewolves. I especially loved it when the end of the movie came and the body would disappear or would open their eyes letting you know there would be more terror next year.

     The only horror movie hero I loved more than Freddy Krueger was Pinhead. I can remember fondly watching Hellraiser 1 and 2 back to back, while eating spaghetti with my family. I would hold the spaghetti up on my fork like a clump of brain and whisper at my little sister and brother “We have such sights to show you.” Then we would all giggle while my father smiled and my mother would sigh.

     “My daughter belongs with the Addams family.” she would say. (Which secretly made me very happy, even though I’m quite sure Gomez would question why Morticia suddenly pushed out a little black kid.)

     As I got older I taught myself how to do little horror make overs. I actually learned how to put on real make up by playing with Halloween make up strangely enough. That’s right I learned how to put a bloody wound on my face before I learned to put on eye liner and mascara. Still to this day I love painting my face for Halloween and will paint everyone else’s face too if they’ll let me.

     Looking back I really was a strange little girl…I wonder how my parents dealt with me sometimes. Anyhow, what’s your favorite scary movie?

See you soon,

-Gen

Short Story 5

2011-02-25T21:55:00.001-08:00

Peach Toned Symphony

It wouldn’t have taken much. It wouldn’t have taken much to make me drop to my knees and kiss the ground at her perfect feet. She was a vision of ethereal grace, my golden skinned obsession. I watched her pirouette gently moving into an arabesque. Attitude devant en pointe, grand battement en cloche, grand jeté, I knew the names; knew the bends and leaps. She performed a Fouetté en tournant and as always my eyes were drawn to the satin and burlap bound instep of her feet. Oh the beauty in that simple little arch! All the beauty of humanity could be found in this one little useless curve. I wanted to put her on a pedestal of marble, and encase her in glass where she could dance for me for all eternity. I followed her every movement across that stage, watching those beautiful insteps. I was begging, pleading, in my mind for her to spin just once more.

The music was dying low signaling the end of the final scene, and with a final dramatic note it was over. I slipped silently away from the curtain with my bouquet and headed for the giant dressing rooms where the cast would slowly gather when they absorbed all the praise and applause the crowd would let them have. I laid the roses at her mirror and smiled at the picture of her taken during rehearsal with her cast members. Her peach colored leg warmers fell down slightly over the heel of her foot as her and the rest of the cast performed some pointe work. It was so easy for me to pull that picture down off her mirror. It was just as easy for me to place it in my pocket after a gentle kiss to it. I could hear the voices of the dancers; excited chatter about the night’s performance. With a smile I blended into the shadows of one corner and waited.

The perception of mortals is a strange thing, indeed. At times they could be painfully aware of everything around them, and at other times they could be so completely oblivious to even the most obvious of things. Luckily for me the latter was the case. She breezed right past me on the way to her mirror, her dark hair tumbling about her face finally free from the bun that held it hostage on stage. Her wide dark eyes turned to liquid joy as she scooped up the pale pink roses on her table. The girls about her giggled with her as they tried to guess who the admirer was. I listened and laughed as she whispered to them that she thought it was her father.

“I’ve received the same pink roses since I was twelve years old, ever since I started really dancing.” She confessed. The other girls sighed dreamily and wondered aloud. What if it wasn’t her father? What if it was some long time crush? Oh if only they knew. I watched her as she stretched her right leg on her table and flexed that wonderful foot repeatedly. What I would give to massage those weary muscles for her. She sat on her stool crossing her legs bouncing them to some music only she heard, and brushed out her hair slowly. When she was done I followed her to the showers watching her remove her costume and put it in the hands of some assistant. The tutu she took off first, the white ruffled mass seemed to devour the other woman’s arms. All I wanted was to watch her take off her shoes. When she did I sighed. The calluses, the bruises, the scars; all of it spoke of the dedication she had for her craft. Then there was that lovely arch. For some reason I just couldn’t stop looking at it, I never could.

She walked gingerly towards the shower and I daydreamed briefly of stealing her from this place, spiriting her away as I had so many other women. Her, I would not touch though; she would always remain as she was. Sometimes it was nice to watch them grow older; mortal dreams, mortal aspirations, and ultimately a mortal death. So brief their lives, these beings that could have so much beauty in the strangest places. They were brief symphonies of colors innumerable. And she was my symphony in peach, a golden melody harmonized with pink. Her legs the string section, her feet the violins…

I wiped a tear from my eye and moved back through the darkness. I would be back tomorrow night, and the night after that. I would follow her wherever she performed until her body could perform no more. Then I would move on, something amazing about some other mortal catching my eye giving my endless life meaning for another 90 years. For now it was her, only her. I slipped out into the night and wondered what I would bring her tomorrow.

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I hope you enjoyed it. This one was written for a themed contest on LiveJournal. Our first theme of the month had been “instep”. Tell me what you think.

See you soon,

-Gen

Random Thoughts 5

2011-02-20T22:59:00.000-08:00

Hello fellow writers, artists, and dreamers!

I was awarded this little award here by a cool guy: Tony Benson. Apparently there are some rules to this. I must link the person who gave it. *looks up*. Moving on...
I must tell you seven things about myself, I can do that...
And I must pass on the award to three other people...I think I can do that as well.

So let's begin...

1. I hate cooked veggies but I will eat raw ones all day long.
2. I live in a small zoo, we have currently 3 dogs, 2 cats, 1 rabbit, 1 snake, 1 bearded dragon, and a flock of zebra finches. It can get damn noisy.
3. I love music. I have to have some music when I write; it sets the mood and helps me flush out characters.
4. I am 29 and still in school. (long story; I'm working on it).
5. I love watching stand up comedies, romantic comedies not so much. (Though I will watch anything with Ryan Reynolds in it.)
6. The cartoon that made me learn to draw was ReBoot, and I started when I was eleven years old. Before that I had wanted to be a Paleontologists because I just loved dinosaurs.
7. I love history and crime shows, my favorite being Deadly Women on IDDiscovery.

Okay so now I have to choose 3 people that I want to give this award.
1. Inkpots n' Quills Ann has my vote because I love the picture of the quills at the top of her page. And her page is simple.
2. The Open Vein I'm not sure whether or not E.J. got one already or not, but even if he did the guy is just plain cool.
3. Chunky Funky Monkeyz Tia is a friend of mine and if anyone has blog style in my mind it's her but that's a personal opinion.

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

See you soon

-Gen

Challenge 1: The Answer to the Lie

2011-02-19T18:01:00.001-08:00

So a lot of you think the rabbit was a lie. Incorrect: I do have a little gray bunny named Nathan Scott Philips. My sister named her that because of an episode of Aqua Teen Hunger Force.

The lie(s): Fuligulines on my plate; I’ve never eaten a sea bird ever…(I looked it up just now, that’s not cheating is it?)

I also do not speak in rhyme when I’m bored. I just happened to be watching the Princess Bride at the time.

“Anybody want a peanut?”

Have a good night everybody!

See you soon,

-Gen

Challenge 1

2011-02-18T21:15:00.001-08:00

Hello all, and welcome fellow crusaders who find themselves in my part of the blogging ocean. So we have a challenge! I do love a challenge…

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I am very fond of fuligulines,

especially on my plate.

I have a pet rabbit named Nathan Scott Philips

She lives in a crate

I tend to speak in rhyme

When I’m bored.

I used to be friends with a

Bloviating whore

I’m fond of blades

I’m an enthusiast you know

I’m fond of Green Lantern

Superman can go…(die in a fire)

Something (or things here)

may not be true

You can try to guess

but I can give no clues

Cheery-bye!

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

Have fun guys!

See you soon

-Gen

Random Thoughts 4/Art 4: Dead Characters

2011-02-16T17:08:00.001-08:00

By Dead Characters I mean characters that just died before they had a chance to become something. This character is one of a pair of sisters that had no story or any plot whatsoever. She just sort of sat on my computer hoping to become something special and it never happened.

Amber Shade was her name. Sadly even now I look at her and see nothing. I just don’t have the heart to delete it though. I’m always hoping I jot down a story that could always use a pair of sexy sisters, lol. What do you do with characters that have no character? How do you break it to them that they have no place and probably never will?

See you soon

-Gen

Writer's Crusade and Conventions

2011-02-11T20:42:00.000-08:00

Second Writers' Platform Building Crusade

Something I've stumbled across while blog cruising. It looks like a great way to get in touch with other writers and help develop my skills. I like that idea.
Sort of like Brigit's Flame back on Live Journal (I've really gotta check in with those guys, I miss them.) Hopefully I can find a good critique partner or maybe just meet some really awesome people either way I'm looking forward to being a part of something fun!

In other news:
It appears I will be selling art and other mystical things at a convention this summer. What will I be selling? I'm not sure yet, however I can tell you the cons in question are Otacon, and Nekocon. If you'll be there come give me a cheerful hello. Buying not necessary. I love talking to strangers...(as long as they aren't the creepy ones).

See you soon
-Gen

Random Thoughts 3

2010-11-02T23:55:00.001-07:00

I find myself often wondering whether or not I am suited for relationships. It seems like I can handle many things except picking a person who is good for me. Normally I don’t care, but sometimes there is just that little bit of me that thinks it would be wonderful to know who that one person in the world for me is. Of course I’m not the only one in the world who feels that way, but when I start thinking about that tiny lonely feeling in my gut it feels like I am.

I tend to tell myself that when it is time, he will wander across my path and we will annoy the hell out of each other. Then somewhere along the way we will fall in love. It’s a nice thought but eventually the feeling will fade and I will lapse back into ‘who gives a shit’, locking up my sad lonely little feeling till the next time I am alone in my room surrounded by silence and forced to listen to the little truths my heart and mind want me to acknowledge but I won’t.

I wonder when I started believing that I wouldn’t fall in love. When I was a little girl there was nothing I was more sure of. I knew that I would find a love just like my parents found each other. I knew there was a man (not a prince or king or some figment of imagination) strong, proud, and not necessarily perfect out there that would love me, and love the fact that I was me. There was never a doubt. I suppose it was when I was rejected the first time. He didn’t tell me I was unattractive or anything, but he did tell me I was too aggressive and too straight forward. I never thought that was a flaw. I still don’t, perhaps that’s why I stopped believing. If I have to pretend and be coy to get a thing, then it is not something I want. I guess I believe I can be honest and still get what I want. Perhaps this is not true.

Still if I have to lie to get it, I’m not sure I want it bad enough. Perhaps in this instance it is truly better to be alone. Who knows though? I am young enough that anything could happen. He might show up tomorrow with a rose and a smile.

Thanks for dealing with my mushy feelings

See you soon,

-Gen

Short Story 4

2010-10-14T01:51:00.001-07:00

Snow

Written by: J.L.J.

     Winter made her sad. The cold gray sky made everything seem too hopeless. The bare sleeping trees looked like bones reaching up to the sky pleading for this cold season to be a short one. The only thing she liked about this time of year was the fact that the holidays meant that people would put up their lights, and for a moment, the gray would sparkle with color and warmth. Here and there little electric blossoms would pop up on peoples windows and houses. But then just like that they were gone again, and she was stuck with the almost oppressive gray sky and bitter wind. She tried to shrink herself within her coat, letting the fake fur of the hood obscure her brown face.
     She sighed and looked up and down the street darkly; the bus was late again. She was hoping that just for once it would show up when it was supposed to. She hoisted her backpack sharply and muttered angrily about public transportation. That’s when the streak of red sailed by her face. She only needed to follow it for a second to know that it was a bird. It was in fact a cardinal. It landed on the ground in front of her and pecked at a pile of leaves hopefully. It was so red against the gray... The bird continued to flit through the leaves hoping to find at least a small crumb or bug resting on its surface. It hopped a little away and chirped a bit. She watched it as it jumped off the curb to check the gutter, and then flutter back up to check the grass again. "Give up the ghost, my friend, it's way to cold for bugs..." she whispered. The bird ignored her and continued his search. He came to a clump of dirt on the sidewalk and he began to peck through it chirping every now and again while he dug. He looked up at her almost in triumph and pulled a small worm out of the clump. It swallowed it down and with another chirp it flew off victorious.
     In spite of the gray and the cold, she smiled.

***

Hope you liked the Mini short

See you soon

-Gen

Musical Interlude 1

2010-10-04T21:08:00.000-07:00

Jada's band Wicked Wisdom...

Art 3: Blood Girl

2010-09-28T02:20:00.001-07:00

Just me screwing around in photoshop. Look forward to some serious art later on this week. Must finish coloring…

See you soon,

-Gen

Short Story 3- Adult

2010-09-15T23:30:00.001-07:00

Warning Adult Content: Rape, Messed up Religious People (you have been warned)

Breathe

Written By: J.L.J. (Gen)

Breathe in, breathe out; I sprawled out across the dusty floor beneath the bed. Breathe in,

Breathe out…

I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my blood. Peering out with clear blue eyes I watched as my prey got ready for bed. I watched as she dropped her panties on the floor and lifted one slender leg onto the bed.

Breathe in,

Breathe out…

Pulling back my long red hair in that cramped space I waited for the sound of snoring or murmuring. When I heard a series of deep breaths I slid out from under the bed. Breathe in; I stood over her looking down at her flawless skin and golden hair. Breathe out; her eyes snapped open, milky and blind.

“Is someone there? Daniel is that you?!” she called. I stared down at my blind goddess and smiled as I clapped the chloroform rag over her beautiful mouth.

Breathe in, breathe out; my goddess was chained to my bed splayed out. Breathe in… pulling off my shirt I straddled her, fondling her perfect breasts. My mouth covered those lovely rose pink nipples, breathing out as I pulled away. I could feel my dick twitch between my legs. I caressed her spread thighs and listened as she came to and tried to scream.

Breathe in,

Breathe out…

“I want to worship you.” I whispered. “Let me worship you.” She whipped from side to side as I placed my long fingers into her holy ground. She tried to scream again but the gag ruined that. Breathe in; she smelled of fruit, peaches I think. Breathe out; I licked my fingers and tasted her juice. It was sweet like she ate a lot of candy. Kneeling between her legs I placed my lips on her altar, probing her folds with my tongue. Her screams became weeping.

Breathe in,

Breathe out…

Unbuckling my pants my tongue flicked across her clit. She began to thrash again as I mounted her. Breathe in; her cunt was moist and warm. Breathe out; I prayed as I began to thrust in and out of my goddess. She shivered and cried as she took my sin.

“Let me worship you.” I said again and again. My hair fell from the quick knot I had tied it in, and the long red hair hung about my face like a curtain on fire. I could feel the pressure building up in my balls and I knew soon I would be absolved of all my sins and shame.

Letting loose a volley of seed I pulled out, watching as a second splattered her thighs like an offering. She laid there and cried as I sealed her in the old church attic.

Breathe in…

Breathe out; I locked my hair up for the night in its customary braid. I pulled the pastoral collar from my shirt and tossed it on my night table. Shedding my clothes I scratched the sparse red hair on my chest and thought of my secret gem. Sprawling across my bed I closed my eyes for the night.

Breathe in; I felt him standing over me and I shuddered. Father Michael could always get around without sound. I was going to roll over to my back but a well placed knee in my back and a yank of my hair made it impossible. Breathe out; he wrapped my braid around his large meaty hand and growled at me.

“Where have you been tonight, Brother Andrew?” he said.

“I took a walk Father.”

“You smell like a woman.” To emphasize this he dropped his broad muscular body on top of me and breathed in. I tried to struggle as he pulled my boxers down. There was no worship here, no gentle caresses. There never were. Just starry pain as he speared my ass over and over. I bit my pillow as his cock slammed repeatedly into my prostate.

Breathe in,

Breathe out…

I thought of my goddess and how I would give her this sin too. He grunted and heaved over my back.

“Ahh brother… this is my body!” he roared as sprays of cum filled my hole providing the only lube for his continued intrusion.

Breathe in,

When he emptied himself into my ass he climbed off of me with a pleased groan.

Breathe out…

He gave my butt a smack and laughed as he walked out of my room. I rolled over shaking and dreamed of my goddess who could not see my shame.

***

Hope you enjoyed this, or at least thought it was well written.

See you soon,

-Gen

Random Tales from my Life 3, Art 2

2010-09-11T19:32:00.001-07:00

I met her my first semester at PG Community. A friend of a friend… She had a purple scarf with Jack Skellington and black braids with streaks of purple. She had a really funky goth sense of style and she was an artist.

As a rule I don’t go out of my way talk to gothic or emo people because the conversation usually makes me angry. Some of them are really neat, but others seem kinda well…annoying. She was not one of them. She had an easy smile and cheerful laugh. So I talked to her, looked at her sketches (Which were amazing and still are), and then somehow we ended up being friends.

There were other people but she was the most interesting. I think it’s because she reminded me of Claudia Kishi from the Babysitters Club books. Claudia was always my favorite character. We hung out in Largo walking around talking about random crap, whatever was on our mind, and then we would end up at Qdoba where inevitably they would play Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5. We had a lot of laughs and a lot of great times I think but as will happen with people we parted ways.

She headed for the west coast and I am here on the east.

I’ll drop her a note from time to time and she’ll write me back. Eventually maybe we’ll get to hang out again and walk around talking about whatever. Perhaps we will wind up at Qdoba and wait for them to play 9 to 5. We will sing along and then we will part ways again. She will return to her land of sun where her life leads her and I will wander wherever the hell my life is leading me.

Happy Birthday Tia, here’s to laughter, music, and color. May your life be full of it!

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Here’s a bit of fun just for the birthday girl!!

I know she’s really shiny….

For those of you who don’t know who that’s supposed to be, I’m gonna need you to turn on Mtv or something…

See you soon,

-Gen

Art 1

2010-08-24T19:07:00.000-07:00

One of the pictures I have up on my Artician page. Enjoy ...

Di Nuova Concezione Immacolata

See you soon,

-Gen

Random Thoughts 2

2010-08-17T06:40:00.000-07:00

I hate chain letters, especially the e-mail and text chain letters.

Not the old ones that say 'this letter has been going around since 19whenever...' No the ones I hate are the ones that tell you send this to such amount of people so you can get a wish, or the ones that say you send this to such amount of people or you don't believe in God. The worst of them all are the ones that say 'look at this image, pass it on or something terrible will happen to you! Cousins and family members will die if you don't pass this on.'

What kind of asshole would wish that on anyone even if you don't like them?!

I've never figured out why people insist on sending those things to me. I don't like being bullied with my faith, I don't want a fucking wish, I certainly don't want to look at some horribly fucked up picture just because you think it's funny, and I damn sure don't want some stranger telling me that fucked up things will happen because I won't pass on you dumb as letter. This is not the fucking Ring, stop doing that to people.

There was one that told me that if I didn't send it on I would die. Some faceless entity was going to hurt me for some reason. I'm not sure why. It made me sad. Why would you send something like that to a friend? That shit is lame son, stop doing it!!!

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

See you soon,

-Gen

Random Tales from my Life 2

2010-08-09T16:19:00.001-07:00

I remember the week after my father died so well because that’s the period of time when everyone brings food over. And for some God forsaken reason all they brought was chicken. Oh they bought various side dishes, but the main was always chicken. Fried, baked, grilled, poached, stew, salad, just a never ending train of chicken dishes. I remember asking my mother why there was so much chicken and she told me it was because it was the cheapest meat to buy.

Well by the end of the week we had had enough of chicken. Seeing an opportunity to make my little sister and brother smile I gathered them into the family room of our house and said that we should go on chicken strike. They agreed, and we did.

We marched out into the dining room where my mother was sitting and we stood in line and put our feet down.

“We are on strike!” I declared.

“No more chicken!” my sister agreed.

“We’re tired of chicken.” my brother added. My mother just looked at us and laughed.

Sadly our strike was ended not long after that declaration as our Aunt Pat came over bearing the awesome that is Popeyes spicy chicken. We would have held out but…well there were biscuits too.

See you soon…

-Gen

Short Story 2

2010-07-03T02:18:00.000-07:00

Just Say No
By: J.L.J./Gen

Kevin sat on the old floral patterned love seat with his leg draped over the arm. His Baltimore Raven's jersey was raised over his milk pale stomach as he examined the dark red 'happy trail' that led down to his jean shorts. He took his index finger and poked his belly button over and over watching it sink in and rise. He sucked his stomach in and rolled it a bit, constantly poking his navel. In the background Doc Holiday told Johnny Ringo he was his huckleberry. What the hell is a huckleberry? He thought absently. He pulled a small black marble out of his pocket and smiled as he held it up in the waning light. He jammed it into his belly button and tried to push it out with his stomach. He laughed loudly as the marble rolled up to his jersey.

"I want them spitting blood!" Johnny Ringo yelled from the television. He jammed the marble in his navel again and pushed it out again, giggling like a five year old. His younger brother walked into the living room and stopped, staring at him for a long time.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, raising his eyebrows slowly.

"What's a huckleberry, Allen?" Kevin asked, never looking up from his navel. Allen eyed his older brother with a hard glare that he could have only learned from their mother.

"You're high again aren't you? Ma said she would throw you out if you kept smoking weed in here." he said.

"I smoked it outside, little bro. Come on tell me what a huckleberry is." he demanded. Allen sighed and shrugged disgusted.

"I would assume it's a berry, and you didn't smoke it outside because I can smell it." He sat down and picked up the remote turning off the television just when Virgil Earp fell to the ground of the saloon holding his arm in pain.

"I was watching that." Kevin said.

"No you are playing with your belly button for some retarded fucking reason." Allen slapped his foot off the arm of the couch. Kevin pulled his leg beneath him and continued pushing the marble in and pushing it out. "Why are you doing that?" Allen asked softly.

"Because it makes me happy…” Kevin pushed the marble in as deep as he could and giggled as he tried to push it out. Allen sighed angrily and scratched his head in frustration.

“You have to get out of here so I can spray this room down. Unless you like the idea of living in the street…” He growled. Kevin sighed and pulled his shirt down sadly. He got up and stalked off to his room. When he shut the door he sprawled out on his bed, playing with his navel till he fell asleep.

“Hey Allen?” Kevin called. Allen took the toothbrush out of his mouth and spat out the toothpaste quickly.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Is mom here?”

“No, she left for work an hour ago. What’s up?” Allen turned the water off and walked into the hall hoping he didn’t ask just so he could smoke.

“Why is there a marble in my belly button?” Kevin asked. Despite himself, Allen laughed.

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

I have known quite a few potheads and all of them had smoked some part of their brains away. I apologize if you are a functioning pothead.

This is another story I brought over from my Livejournal account.

See you soon

-Gen

Random Thoughts 1

2010-06-19T09:42:00.000-07:00

I like the shape of men. This is odd I was told because most artist find women more appealing visually. Supposedly it's because they are circular and soft, even when a woman is muscular there is a hint of softness somewhere (Tina Turner comes to mind...or Lucy Lawless). However I prefer the angular block form of men. Some men can seem very soft in shape, but even in the most feminine man there is something...block like...about their form.
If I were allowed I could spend all day tracing the lines of their muscles, even when they are not visible I would just follow the line with my fingers. Even when they are chubby (or even fat for that matter) they are there waiting beneath the fatty tissues, like solid rock wrapped in cushion.It is almost an obsession I think, but I think of it as an artistic one as I will examine a man that I have no sexual interest in as well as one that I do. I kind of wish I had male friends that were willing to model for me. I kind of have to beat them up to get them to comply. Oh well. That's all from me.

See you soon,
-Gen

Short Story 1

2010-05-31T19:37:00.000-07:00

Boxes
By: J. L. J./Gen
(This story is posted on my LJaccount too)

It was just a box. It was a large old cardboard box that had once held an old television. To them it was a pirate ship, then it was a fort, then it was a jail and finally before it tore it was a race car. Once it tore it was a whole new set of objects; a kite, a sled, a kite again, a hang glider, a shield from enemy fire, and strangely a Hopi teepee. Never mind the fact that the Hopi tribe lived in pueblos, that didn’t matter to them. When the rain started it became a shield again, shielding them from the evil wizard’s dark rain.

The children laughed and giggled as they ran to the closest home under cover of this mystical cardboard, careful not to let a single limb get wet lest they come under the spell of the tickle beast. They jumped sidewalk cracks as a team and finally made it to the front door where a mother clucked at them lovingly and ushered them in out of the rain. As I finished my tea I wondered where my dreams had gone. I let the curtain fall back into place and went into my basement. In the corner, not far from the furnace, stood an old fridge box that was filled with clothes I would never fit again. I tossed the clothes onto the cold floor and swept the dust out of the inside of it.

It was just a box but maybe when the rain stopped, maybe it could be a super computer or a castle. It could even be a magic time traveling telephone booth. Never mind the fact that Dr. Who had done it already. This was a new era of Time Lords, and nothing would stop them. I carried the box upstairs with a small smile. I placed it by the front door and waited for the rain to pass. I found myself humming Time in a Bottle as I went about my chores. Damn children, never content to let adults be adults…

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

Thanks for reading
See you next time,

-Gen

Laugh with Me 1

2010-05-27T11:28:00.000-07:00

Ever seen a naked guy, that is drawn up fucked up and out of his mind, run up the street screaming?
Almost an hour ago a guy we know who lives not far from us ran up the street buck ass nekkid screaming, jumped on the trunk of my friend's car, and hurled himself into the yard across the street from us throwing himself to the ground.
He rolled in the grass, stood up, cussed at some people, and fell back down. Then he jumped up and incredible-hulked the guy's mailbox right off it's post, throwing it down in the grass like is raped him, and fell back into the grass rolling around like a cat that's gone berserk on catnip.

The police have long since carted him off.

If ever there were an anti-drug commercial that was it...

In other news, does anyone know if BP has a plan that will actually work on that fucking oil spill or are they just coasting along hoping it will go gently into that good night. I heard someone calling the spill Baraq Obama's Hurricane Katrina. I wanted to stab them in the neck for that. That's all I'm going to say on that.

How are you?

See you soon

-Gen

Random Tales from My Life 1

2010-05-20T17:03:00.000-07:00

I lost my virginity at 25 to one of my best friends. Not the person I was saving it for, but let's be honest, what were my chances of losing it to Dwayne "the Rock" Johnson? He was kind to me in his own bittersweet way and he made me laugh. Everyone should know what that's like, to be able to laugh in bed with a lover; to laugh at and with each other. It was something that I loved, and maybe it made me fall in love with him a little. If I was asked I would deny it up and down; I would complain about how difficult he is, how annoying...how much he pisses me off. But somewhere in that place in myself where I have no choice but to be honest with myself I would say maybe. Maybe I did love him a little maybe, just maybe, I still do.

Of course it means nothing now. Or so I tell myself... They are just beautiful memories shared with a good friend. We still argue, piss each other off, pick each other up, and encourage each other. But we don't talk about those memories. Perhaps because we would have to acknowledge that maybe somewhere we really mean more to each other than we thought. Or perhaps only I think like that.

I always counted myself lucky because I could look so fondly on my first time, my first lover. Not many women say that I've learned. Perhaps that's why I tolerate his nonsense sometimes.

See you soon...
-Gen

What is this?

2010-05-16T19:29:00.000-07:00

This is a blog for musing, thinking, and enjoying things about life, art, and music. This is a blog for sharing random things like stories, art, and poetry. Hopefully you will see the good progress of an aspiring writer and artist. Hopefully you will see the evolution of a human being as she strives to make herself better than she was yesterday. Hopefully you will laugh with her when she fucks up and picks up and moves on. Huey Freeman says hope is irrational, but I've never claimed to be a rational individual I just play one on TV.

There are a dozen people out there like me true, but they aren't me...so perhaps you will read something you never read before. I doubt it, but there is always that chance. So starting next week this blog will be officially open and then we'll take it from there.

-Gen

Not Yet

2010-03-29T23:21:00.000-07:00

Soon, give me some time. For now check my Livejourna l...