Showing posts with label a sad turn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label a sad turn. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Tery's Tweets Part 11

>'Make no small plans'. That's the first rule of the Burnham society. The second is 'don't get eaten'. My focus is mostly on the second.

>My dryad friend got pissed that I said she looked beautiful this time of year. Got a whole lecture on faunal pattern baldness.

>Thank god for Halloween. All the monsters think it's safe to come out.

>I have to learn to breathe again. The eyes it was nothing but eyes. The flare trick didn't work. It had more eyes.

>The term for someone losing their soul, and becoming a fish-beast in the service of an undead department store exec is called 'shedding'.

>Hiding from the storms. The sky is black and in the lightning are the shadows of stampeding horses. I should have taken a sick day.

>This really is my busy season. People think they have a right to be monsters. It's as awkward as being at a minstrel show in Bronzeville.

>The Lord of Summer rides the microbursts. It's his petty way of fucking with the autumn folk.

>I watched as the mausoleum doors were sealed, and only then understood the power of a contract.

>Awwww...the moral anguish of killing your zombie lover. Just remember the last time they reprogrammed your remote and take aim.

>There. My busy season is officially over until Christmas. If you think the season isn't a bitch: suicides, ice and repentant ghosts.

>Can't talk. The echoes are looking for me.

>I'm sure it's mice in her boxspring. But she's now in my bed, and I'm in her apartment with the holy water and the claymore.

>Last night I was unable to tell the difference between an imaginary friend and a ghost. The need, the loneliness, the harm...all the same.

>My shapeshifter friend broke up with me. Apparantly they changed into a form that saw I was a jerk.

>We're not the only society. We represent the worldview of one Architect, and our power stems from that view. The other views are

>Four faerie courts, one for each season. Their power is small, but their beauty is evident. Graceland, the Field, Wrigley, the lagoon.

>There's no such thing as a fire escape. It's always a ‘sticky bastard who pinched the container of my soul’ escape.

>I honestly can't tell anymore. Is the cultist wearing a mask and pirate shirt being ironic or retro? I swear the cobewbs are spray-on.

>The ogres left. They said it was our meddling, but I think it was the tax rate. Good luck, Naperville...