Sorry about the other night's post, i was feeling quite low.
I've come to the resolve that i need to simply produce more. More time crafting words and more time authoring. (less time being a whiny, self-demining emo child)

I've been revising works. Expects some revised pieces tonite (sometime)

don't worry about me.

Adventures in a timeline of Marc

*GRUMBLE*

Ok, so you know how t'other day when i didn't post the new Munchausen tale because i was studing for my GREs? Well, as it turns out, i wasn't allowed to take them, 'cause i registered as Marcus Miranti, not William Marcus Miranti (the name on all my I.D.). Not only is it a major set-back for I, I now hafta pay out the ass (~100$)to re-register; during which i'm sure ther'll be problems, 'cause my SS # (not my schutzstaffel number but me social secerity number) will be the same, as with all my other info.
On top of all that, the good folks at ets.org alias: the GRE fucktards, tell me they can't change my name. I s'pose that prevents cheating. nor will they refund me or lemme pay 50$ to alter my information 'cause it's after the test date. But they did tell that in the booklet and online that it sez, persumibly, to "make sure you are registered as your legal name." Well EXCUUUUUUUUSEEEE MMEEEEE for not being able to see warnings that aren't in massive bold lettering. Only, I assume there is such a warning, the operator i spoke with, Shirley, had a hard time telling me where i might find such an admonition. (appearently there's a book?) unfortunately, barreled into the whole 'i'm gonna take my GREs' thing haphazardly. who knows, there might just be a place filled with information like that. Plus, i accepted the terms and conditions agreement, so, legally, they can tell me to piss off. Which they did.

sigh.

Ruby sez that they are in the wrong because i've always associated my self with the name Marcus instead of William. I'm sure that if Shirly knew all about my life, she'd agree.
Sometimes i feel like the whole academic system is a grandiose test meant to rule out the weak. like just being able to take the GREs is a test in of itself.
Or meeby it's just my life.

Anyway, In addition to dealing with that nonsence, i've developed an acute craving for Diablo 2. so my Munchausen chaptorial (serial) has been redused to mere scenes. I wounder if Dickens ever had these kinda problems? like getting distracted from Bleak House reading better novels or whatever victorians did for distraction from tuberculosis and sexual repression.

-Marcus William
p.s. Munchausen updates tomorrow. (or tonite, if my lvl 20 paladin can make it through ACT 2 without being beset upon by vicious Players)

Le sigh

well, sorry folks, but i guess my last week's post went unposted.

enjoy it this week.'cause this week's post will be late. (b)WHY!?!?(/B) you might demand. Well, it's 'cause i was s'posed to take my GRE's today, so i've been studying instead of writing. Well i come to find today that i can't because my info doesn't match. I'm a bit angry about it.

so the story will be post ponned.

Chapter 1: Stranger Happenings (fin)

Bitter stung her nostrals. A brown blob filled Lu’s vision. Slowly she began to make scence of it. eyes. a nose. kindly wrinkles, short black hair unblurred. Father Sabismo’s ancient face brought a smile. “Child,” the voice, a gruff murmur at first, grew into his rich, heavy cockney accent, “you fainted, easy now.”

Lu swung her legs off the oak pew bench, “Je… ah, Pardon. I…” She fumbled far the thin case concealed in her blouse. She took one, lit it and drew a long drag of arid smoke before asking Father Sabismo if he minded her smoking. he only shook his head. They sat in silence for a while. Thin reeds of smoke drifting into the air. The coffin was closed now. Lu suddenly stood. “I’m going to look at that man.” Lu placed a palm on the smooth lid. She could not stop here. to have come so far to see the man who brought her mom such pain. With a breath, she shoved.

The church doors flung wide with a sudden gallantry that turned the heads of all in attendance. A deep faced man strolled through the threashold. For an instant,  Mrs. Carrebelle believed she was staring at Elie VonMunchausen himself. yet, this man strolling in lacked the luster of granduar that famed the baron. but such is the way when stories become myth. a strong, jaw jutted forward, proud and reeking of noblity. not but the grey stubble of mutton chops on the great chin like carved granite. Lu closed her eyes. She had toiled about what it might be like to see the baron, her grandfather again after so many year. The emotional upwelling she had expect, prepared fore, came not. She watched him limp, his left leg aided heavily by a cane. even at 109, she thought, Munchausen moved too achingly, too stiff, too... something not quite Munchausenly. And the short blond haired boy padded along too close as if lead by leash and his face  painted too much concerned.

Lu turned to the coffin. before her a man. This, she suddenly knew, with out question, that this was no imposter. Laying so still, once a source of terror, was no more than a lifeless doll, harmless even. at 109 years aged the baron was handsome. His noble brow furrowed with an extravagant air. his square jaw and unquestible facial hair rang with nobility. despire his pale, aged skin and heavy, sick-soaked lids eyes, he looked as if he might leap from this very box and catch the next cannonball to Hungary. Lu cursed her earlier fear. Lu recalled that she was once told, death humbles all. But the Baron took to the grave with a vainglorious flare that there could be no doubt. Lu felt her knees weaken as hot tears blurred the peaceful body. This was the man that mother spoke of him as a curse. The one person that caused her so, so much pain.  

Selections from journal of Crewmen Carrebella

Sorry folks. but image, if will that instead of the Münchhausen tale  that you so anticipated, despite it being delayed, for being a tale of extraordinary, monumentality. (I've just signed up for a "word of the day" from VisualThesaurus.com",is in, fact not what you are reading, then I'm sorry.

However, these are the recouped projects of me.

<apple

I purchased this book and charcoals and I got a red pastel an I just started into the canvas, so to speak.

<Time is a River Rushing Over Us

You can see I'm just doodling, but I figured I needed to show what might keep us from the fabulous Baron Von Münchhausen.

Brainwash >

these are the attempt of me trying other methods and media to shout at. and be to armature at it.

I really liked working with just black and white. but I suddenly ran out of monochrome paper,thus I found myself with color.

 

 

 

Actually I enjoyed the blend of three colors dancing on a stage. although every thing looks kinda BLoo under this lens...

  <Untitled

I esptially enjoyed the use of crayon. It doesn't mark as well but provides a neat shimmer effect

<sunrise

I hope you've enjoyed enough to forget i tore you away from Münchhausen's fanastic adventures.

anyway, I'll post Münchhausen by Friday.

SEE YOU ALL NEXT WEEK, FOR THE HOLIDAYS!

-Marcus IRmiranti@gmail.com

Chapter 1: Stranger Happenings

A chill breeze harkens twelve strikes of the midnight bell. They came slowly, cold and bitter. Each strike a mourning wail. “A graveyard by the sea” was his request. In the north of Yorkshire, over looking the friged atlantic, this church, in grand colonial style, sat boldly. Pearched high on a short peninsula it over saw the rocky shoreline to the east and wind-scoured plains to the west. Quaint wooden stairs twisted down the rocky knoll to guide visitors up safely to the church doors. The wreaths of white lilies, that looked so peaceful in the morning, now, in the desolate gloom of the eve, haunted the stairs like drooping ghosts. Not a light fell from the skies. Not even the crystalline grace of the moon could shine with such sorrow in her heart. At the tenth long cry of the bell, the clouds, with a thunderous sob, unleashed a pouring rain across the English countryside. Below, a gaunt faced minister opened the doors of his funeral home to the awaiting grievers. Father Sabismo was less surprised that only one person had arrived, but that she had shown at all.
A black sedan rolled to a stop. The heavy rain pecked at the long Duisenberg. Lu stared out the rain spattered window. A once carefree young woman stared back, rain marred the face. She heard the Fredrick’s boots on the wet gravel. Guadalupe Carrabelle, Lu as she preferred, was a wealthy woman of the French aristocracy. At, least that’s what she wished people to believe. In truth, she was lowborn. Lu gazed past that tender face in the rain to the solemn church upon the ridge. How she missed the warm air of Haiti. The sweet tang of tropic rain. This place smelled of herring and sheep even when it was dry. She pulled the black, lance veil down and lit a cigarette. Blue eyes met her brown ones as Fredrick opened her door. A flush of red to his cheeks, he quickly dropped his gaze. They walked together. An umbrella with one hand and Mrs. Carrabelle in the other Fredrick lead her to the church awning. Lu whispered a thank you, pronouncing his name in classic French with a long /e/. She watched the boy trot, blushing back to the Duisenberg. Lu smiled slightly inside.
A gruff weather-beaten voice intruded on her. “Ms. Carrabelle? Ms. Guadalupe Carrabelle? ‘ello?”
Lu shook her head, “Mrs. Carrabelle. Je Suis.” Her red lips pulled a final drag from the cigarette, “Pardon, moi. dis is the Baron’s wake.”
“Father Sabismo.” the elderly man bowed. “Mrs. Carrabelle right-”
“Please, Lu es fine.” She interrupted, “to see an African child so far from home reminds me of mine. It is a comfort, father.”
“A child I ‘ave not been for a while, ma’am,” Sabismo chuckled, “nor ‘ave I seen Africa. Still I’m ‘appy to ease the family of the departed. Come,” the priest offered an arm. Lu slipped her gloved hand into the crook of the father’s elbow. He was a muscular man for the great age he carried. They stepped inside. The scent of pochulli hangs in the dry air. It is the scent of the grave. From far away a shadowed hand grips her soul. Each foot bringing her closer to the Baron then she’d ever been. Lu felt her heart jump. What cruelty was this! Certainly, the father could hear her heart pounding. It drowned out their footfalls, the patter of rain and the howl of the wind. lub-dub! It drowned her too. lub-dub! lub-dub! She fought to breath, to suck in that rank, grave air. lub-dub! lub-dub! lub-dub! The casket stood before her now. Open. The peak of his nose rose above the swells of his cheeks. lub-dub! lub-dub! lub-dub! lub-dub! Lu could take no more. She fell into blackness.



Ok, so I had hoped to get to the interesting, overarching, establishing plot part of this chapter, but today ran off, and i near missed my deadline.

STAY TUNED!

Good Morning, world!
Recently, in addition to my SwineFlew, I seem to have come down with some serious Disgaea-isis. It's a trouble, chronic illness that causes me to lose long tracks of time and periodic procrastination.

Yet, with treatment and a bit of rest, i am back and writing.
On another note, i've re-stuctured munchousen story. Update's tonight. Lezay, ug, 8:36pm