Sunday, February 27, 2011

Better Living Through Humiliation

First, I must apologize to my fellow Tenth Daughter of Memory participants for so spectacularly bungling the "River of Mnemosyne" Challenge and for a general lack of effort in general. I have no excuse other than my extreme lack of time management skills and slack attitude.

It won't happen again.

And, to ensure that it won't happen again, JeffScape and I have come up with a plan; for the rest of the year, I will participate in every Muse posted (which means voting as well) or I will be punished.

Nothing kinky or dangerous folks, just good ol' fashioned humiliation for the internet to see.

Each punishment will be recorded and posted to my Youtube channel here.

The hope, of course, is that I am motivated enough to not actually need a punishment, but I think we all know that I will stumble at least once or twice before the end of the year.

Some of these entries will be video based. I have been trying to get myself back into the habit of making short films, so look forward to that as well.

I have already prepared my collab channel viewers for upcoming punishments in my video for this week. Check it out:


All of this will begin with the first Muse posted for March. I'm told Jeff and the rest of the 10thDoM crew are already cooking up some wicked ideas for me. Anything you'd like to see me do? Leave it in the comments right here or on my Youtube channel. So let's see what happens!


William the Bloody Preparing for Punishment Redd

Saturday, February 12, 2011

The Office That Time Forgot

The Tenth Daughter of Memory is having their second annual "River of Mnemosyne" Challenge. Click the link for an explanation of what that is. This is Part 2 of my Chapter 0 entry. You really need to read Part 1 before continuing on here.





Chapter 0: I Smell Dead Guy or This Old House

Part 2: The Office That Time Forgot

      The office was pitch black. If there had been any windows, they had long been covered over or bricked up. Once I found the light switch, the light sounded like it was going to explode. Is a light bulb supposed to sizzle and crack? The bulb looked handmade, slightly malformed. Was Vernon a glass blower?

      I maneuvered through stacks of books and precariously made towers of papers. The whole room looked like a series of interrupted Jenga games. One wrong move and it would all come crashing down. Vernon had a lot of interests, all seemingly scientific. There were books on physics, chemistry, biology, botany, astrophysics, alchemy, the paranormal; I even saw what appeared to be the edge of a periodic table tacked to the wall. Beneath it was the frame of what was once a window.

      Finally, I located the desk. I moved a pile from the chair and sat there for a while. I was completely out of my element. The wooden desk chair squeaked as I leaned back. Looking up at the ceiling, which was covered in... were those star charts? I started thinking about where a man might keep his journal.

      Was Vernon left or right handed?

      Did he even write at his desk?

      Another look around the room convinced me he practically lived in this room. There were dirty dishes hidden under yellowed papers and file folders, food that was probably close to sentience clung stubbornly to those papers. Books were sitting open all over the place. It's like the man never stopped working.

      I thought about it another moment, then my hand reached out, almost on instinct, towards the many cubby holes built into the desk and the wall. Moving a few items from the cubby hole nearest my hand, I reached in and pulled out a mid-sized, leather bound notebook bulging ot the point of exploding, held together with a thick, black band.

      This thing had seen some use.

      I'll admit, I was a little scared to open it. It looked like it the diary of a madman, and who knows, maybe it was. A guy like Great-Uncle Vernon, all alone in this big house, working night and day... he might have been just a little batty.

      Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. I carefully untied the black band that held the overstuffed journal together and started flipping through it. Here it was, Vernon's private thoughts. His secret projects revealed. The absolute truth to how mad he may or may not be.

      Most people would probably start reading at the beginning, but something tells me the early days of a journal are rather dull. You probably start out all, "Hello world," and "this is how I intend to use this book," blah, blah, blah... dull as dishwater. The meat's in the middle, so let's start there.

      The first thing to catch my eye is a photograph. The man, I would assume, is Vernon, probably around 25. He looks similar to my Grandpa when he was in his twenties. Definitely looks like he could be Granddad's brother. What was really interesting though, was what he was standing in front of. There, as big as a house, was what looked like a rocket... or possibly a submarine. Wait, no... no propellers. That's definitely a rocket. But, if Vernon was around 25 in this photo, and he was born in 1904... this photo was taken in 1929. Great-Uncle Vernon was building rockets in the 1920s?

      This can't be real. Who was trying to launch themselves into space back then? Hell, we'd only been flying airplanes for about ten years. We were decades away from making it to space. Weren't we?

      Maybe the journal had some answers.

      I turned the page and started reading with May 24, 1929.

*****


Thus ends Muse 0. Continued tomorrow (and I mean it this time) with Muse 1.


William the Bloody Back On Schedule Redd

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

I Smell Dead Guy

The Tenth Daughter of Memory is having their second annual "River of Mnemosyne" Challenge. Click the link for an explanation of what that is. This is Part 1 of my Chapter 0 entry.


Chapter 0: I Smell Dead Guy or This Old House

      Oh God, the smell, the absolute stink of it. What is it about an old house? I know it's falling apart and decaying, and there's the mustiness of it, but what is it that makes it smell THAT bad? It could have something to do with death. Does death leave a smell behind? Even if the person living here didn't actually die here, would the fact that a death occurred leave some kind of smell marker? I mean, I walk into this house, and I smell dead guy.

      That's terrible to say, especially since this was family, but still...

      It's not as if I knew the guy. My great-uncle Vernon was the last member of my family still living. He was my grandfather's oldest brother, and from what I've heard he was the most ornery cuss that ever lived on God's green earth. These were my grandfather's words. Nobody knew much about him. He was a private man. Didn't even send out Christmas cards. Of course, I've never known men to be big on sending out cards anyway, that always seemed more like a woman's interest. Maybe I take after great-uncle Vernon, they say he was a dyed in the wool sexist too.

      He-Man Woman-Hater's Club, that's me!

      Of course, being the last of the family living, the house came to me. Vernon apparently didn't have a will to that effect, but his lawyer felt it should go to any family remaining. No idea how he got my number. Guess they had it on file. Or maybe his lawyer called Dad's lawyer and he had my number on file from when my parents passed. Not that it really matters, but I think about things like that sometimes.

      Great-uncle Vernon lived a long, long life. He was 107 when he died. A long life means one thing once it's over, a whole lot of clutter for someone else to clean up. Again, since I'm the only one left in the family, that falls to me. I don't know what ol' Vernon did for a living, but it involved a hell of a lot of paperwork. He had a lot of books on science too. Was it a hobby or a career?

      Where do I even start? This house is huge. It reminds me of one of those old mad scientist houses you'd see in horror movies from the fifties, the kind of place where you would open some door and find either a Frankenstien monster or a bride of Dracula. Hell, maybe both. Wouldn't that be something? Ol' Vernon was some crackpot, mad scientist who made some creepy abomination in his basement and it's still down there, just waiting for me to open the door...

      Okay, enough of that. I'll freak myself out.

      Might as well start in the office. If there's any place I'm liable to find out what Vernon did for a living, it's there.

***

Part 2 and Chapter 1 tomorrow.

William the Bloody Far Behind Everyone Else in the Challenge Redd