Sneaky Panda

Ho hum.

I've been at college a good week now, and things are shaping up pretty well, I think. My roommate, Miguel (or "The Cheech,") and I got hooked up with the biggest room in our dorm, which also happens to be the only room on the 1st floor. Tight.

Classes are good. The Making of Europe, Writing II, Poetry Workshop, and Globalization, Pop Culture, and The Media (which is every bit as awesome as it sounds.) Nothing earlier than 10 AM, either.

I'm looking to get a job DJing for the campus radio station, WALF, as well. Been working on art, playing bass, and working on mix CDs in my spare time, which will be cut down severely if I end up actually joining all the clubs I signed up for. (Militant
Illustrators Association, AU Swing Society, Medieval Club, Pirate Theater, and probably a few others.)

Woosh. That's all you get for now, shit to do.

Well, it's no Holy Quest.

Yesterday I began a journey. Physical, to be sure, maybe spiritual or some associated hoop-la. Yesterday I left my Louisville home, still trashed from the previous night's celebration, my mother in the driver's seat, for college.

Sunday involved a fair bit of driving, grabbing some pizza and catching a show in Cleveland. People Under The Stairs opened for Flobots. Goddamn, what a good show. Spent most of today driving up to Rochester, with a brief pause to get a new tape adapter at Target and nom-ing at Bob Evans. Fuck if it's for old people, I had a damn good pot roast. Rest of the evening was spent talking/eating with grandparents and secluding myself in front of the computer in the attic.

Tomorrow I get to hang around Rochester for a little bit, then head over to Syracuse to visit Bryan Crandall, my junior/senior year English teacher. Hopefully he'll set my head straight. The next day, a short drive to Alfred University, and who knows what from there.



It's a weird feeling, knowing that it'll be a good three months before I see any of my friends from Louisville again, but I put college off for a year, and it's time. We'll see where this takes me.

I think I'm writing a book.

Wafts of smoke drifted lazily around Mercy's bare feet, the yellowed grass puffing into nothing at the heat. The Archon cast his gaze about the wide, crumbling, courtyard, questing about for that familiar cold presence. Nothing moved save the damp breeze that spirited the smoke away and left a greasy feeling on Mercy's skin.

There was something unnatural about that wind, the Archon decided. Still warily scanning the ancient courtyard, he resigned himself to action. Words slipped from his lips like burning pitch, steaming as they grew in intensity. A thin red line was traced on the palm of his right hand, and a wavering golden light began to spill out, luminescence dripping like wax. Emerging from the widening gash was a jag, then a spike, then a long curved blade of shimmering bone, impossibly sharp. It shone wetly.

Something in the shadows at the north end of the court moved, a sinuous, pulsing motion.

There you are, thought Mercy, sword gripped loosely. The pools of golden blood mirrored his watching eyes. His silver wings rustled in the gathering wind, and the thing emerged.