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Apr. 5th, 2011
Early September
Apr. 5th, 2011 07:36 am I was going to save this for 9/11, but it was occupying my brain so I decided to spit it out. There is also the issue of questionable taste, something that has never bothered me before, but there has to be a first time for everything.
Greetings, O highest masters. Greetings from your slaves, who grovel in abject misery at your feet. Decades ago you conquered us. Decades ago you melted our ice, flooded our cities, destroyed our armies, slaughtered our people. You came to our planet, crushed our ability to resist, and set us to work providing for you and your saurian kind. We welcome you, the saurian leadership, back to New York City. You call it by another name now, but although you have destroyed it and rebuilt it by your own specifications, this is still our city, and we call it by our names. Whether you agree or not, you are our guests. We wish to be proper hosts.
It is a beautiful April day, masters. It is a mere ninety-eight degrees outside – chilly for you, but bearable for us. But I tell you now, masters, it is not truly April. In our minds it is September. It is September the Eleventh, saurians, a special date for New Yorkers. On this date we think back to times long ago, long before your kind came, when our city came under attack. On this date nearly a hundred years ago we suffered as one. Though we have suffered a thousand times worse at your hands, masters, we still remember September the Eleventh. It brings us together.
It is September the Eleventh, masters, because today is a day of change. On September the Eleventh long ago, New Yorkers changed the way they thought about their place in the world. You are our guests, masters, and we share what is ours. Today we share September the Eleventh with you.
Your leaders are coming to New York City. Slaves died to tell us that the Fangmaster and his hunt-mates will fly in via winged transport at 2105 local hours. We shall prepare an appropriate reception, 9/11 style.
We're going to fly a building into your airplane.
( Read more... )
Greetings, O highest masters. Greetings from your slaves, who grovel in abject misery at your feet. Decades ago you conquered us. Decades ago you melted our ice, flooded our cities, destroyed our armies, slaughtered our people. You came to our planet, crushed our ability to resist, and set us to work providing for you and your saurian kind. We welcome you, the saurian leadership, back to New York City. You call it by another name now, but although you have destroyed it and rebuilt it by your own specifications, this is still our city, and we call it by our names. Whether you agree or not, you are our guests. We wish to be proper hosts.
It is a beautiful April day, masters. It is a mere ninety-eight degrees outside – chilly for you, but bearable for us. But I tell you now, masters, it is not truly April. In our minds it is September. It is September the Eleventh, saurians, a special date for New Yorkers. On this date we think back to times long ago, long before your kind came, when our city came under attack. On this date nearly a hundred years ago we suffered as one. Though we have suffered a thousand times worse at your hands, masters, we still remember September the Eleventh. It brings us together.
It is September the Eleventh, masters, because today is a day of change. On September the Eleventh long ago, New Yorkers changed the way they thought about their place in the world. You are our guests, masters, and we share what is ours. Today we share September the Eleventh with you.
Your leaders are coming to New York City. Slaves died to tell us that the Fangmaster and his hunt-mates will fly in via winged transport at 2105 local hours. We shall prepare an appropriate reception, 9/11 style.
We're going to fly a building into your airplane.
( Read more... )
Early September
Apr. 5th, 2011 03:25 pm I was going to save this for 9/11, but it was occupying my brain so I decided to spit it out. There is also the issue of questionable taste, something that has never bothered me before, but there has to be a first time for everything.
Greetings, O highest masters. Greetings from your slaves, who grovel in abject misery at your feet. Decades ago you conquered us. Decades ago you melted our ice, flooded our cities, destroyed our armies, slaughtered our people. You came to our planet, crushed our ability to resist, and set us to work providing for you and your saurian kind. We welcome you, the saurian leadership, back to New York City. You call it by another name now, but although you have destroyed it and rebuilt it by your own specifications, this is still our city, and we call it by our names. Whether you agree or not, you are our guests. We wish to be proper hosts.
It is a beautiful April day, masters. It is a mere ninety-eight degrees outside – chilly for you, but bearable for us. But I tell you now, masters, it is not truly April. In our minds it is September. It is September the Eleventh, saurians, a special date for New Yorkers. On this date we think back to times long ago, long before your kind came, when our city came under attack. On this date nearly a hundred years ago we suffered as one. Though we have suffered a thousand times worse at your hands, masters, we still remember September the Eleventh. It brings us together.
It is September the Eleventh, masters, because today is a day of change. On September the Eleventh long ago, New Yorkers changed the way they thought about their place in the world. You are our guests, masters, and we share what is ours. Today we share September the Eleventh with you.
Your leaders are coming to New York City. Slaves died to tell us that the Fangmaster and his hunt-mates will fly in via winged transport at 2105 local hours. We shall prepare an appropriate reception, 9/11 style.
We're going to fly a building into your airplane.
( Read more... )
Greetings, O highest masters. Greetings from your slaves, who grovel in abject misery at your feet. Decades ago you conquered us. Decades ago you melted our ice, flooded our cities, destroyed our armies, slaughtered our people. You came to our planet, crushed our ability to resist, and set us to work providing for you and your saurian kind. We welcome you, the saurian leadership, back to New York City. You call it by another name now, but although you have destroyed it and rebuilt it by your own specifications, this is still our city, and we call it by our names. Whether you agree or not, you are our guests. We wish to be proper hosts.
It is a beautiful April day, masters. It is a mere ninety-eight degrees outside – chilly for you, but bearable for us. But I tell you now, masters, it is not truly April. In our minds it is September. It is September the Eleventh, saurians, a special date for New Yorkers. On this date we think back to times long ago, long before your kind came, when our city came under attack. On this date nearly a hundred years ago we suffered as one. Though we have suffered a thousand times worse at your hands, masters, we still remember September the Eleventh. It brings us together.
It is September the Eleventh, masters, because today is a day of change. On September the Eleventh long ago, New Yorkers changed the way they thought about their place in the world. You are our guests, masters, and we share what is ours. Today we share September the Eleventh with you.
Your leaders are coming to New York City. Slaves died to tell us that the Fangmaster and his hunt-mates will fly in via winged transport at 2105 local hours. We shall prepare an appropriate reception, 9/11 style.
We're going to fly a building into your airplane.
( Read more... )
The Play's the Thing (100 words)
Apr. 5th, 2011 06:15 pmI'll catch the conscience of the king, thinks Hamlet. With thaumaturgic thespians he hatches plans.
When the dumb-show has passed, the players begin in earnest. Here, a king; there, his queen. "How like you this play?" Claudius sees himself reflected.
Now comes Lucianus – nephew, poisoner. The King rises! Lucianus rises! "That is not me!" cries Claudius! "That is not me!" cries Lucianus.
Bring light! But the king is gone. There is only a protesting player. And he, too, vanishes as the curtain falls.
Hamlet revels – but alas, all the world's a stage. His play dies too, and with it, vengeance.
When the dumb-show has passed, the players begin in earnest. Here, a king; there, his queen. "How like you this play?" Claudius sees himself reflected.
Now comes Lucianus – nephew, poisoner. The King rises! Lucianus rises! "That is not me!" cries Claudius! "That is not me!" cries Lucianus.
Bring light! But the king is gone. There is only a protesting player. And he, too, vanishes as the curtain falls.
Hamlet revels – but alas, all the world's a stage. His play dies too, and with it, vengeance.