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Homestuck Episode 1- TV scriptTEASER
INT. JOHN’S HOUSE - STUDY – EVENING
The study has a desk in one corner and a piano in the
other. A large safe is in the corner opposite the door.
There is a hat-stand next to the desk, and a tobacco pipe
on the desk. JOHN (13), a black-haired boy, sits at the
piano and adjusts his square-rimmed GLASSES. He begins to
play SHOWTIME (Piano Refrain).
My name is John Egbert. My
favorite movies are Ghostbusters
and Con Air; I like stage magic
and computer games. I want to
carry on my family’s legacy of
cunning practical jokes, but I’m
not too clever yet. Hopefully I’ll
get there someday.
Images of puffy white CLOUDS moving in a BLUE SKY are
overlaid with the shot of John and the piano. They seem
to be moving quickly, even though they cross the screen
It’s my thirteenth birthday
tomorrow, and just like on all
my other birthdays, it feels
like something is missing from
my life. The streets feel empty,
CascadeEdmond checked the street address with the GPS one more time– 3, rue Jean Jaurès, 93170 Bagnolet– and got out of the car. Carefully, and with practiced ease, he walked through the door, tipped his hat to the receptionist, and walked up to the third floor. He walked down the hallway until he saw the number he was looking for on his right. Three brief raps on the door, followed by a sharp “Police, open up!”
A few seconds later, the door opened to a girl grinning warmly, twenty like he was, with a loosely kempt bob-cut framing her rounded face. She smirked, standing on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.
“Bonsoir, Edmond. And look at you! You’re not even in uniform. Ca va?” she asked before bouncing back inside, leaving the door open behind her. He followed her in, silently taking note of the new locations of old items.
“Ca va. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Pénélope. I like the new room. More space
StagnationMy mind has been molasses as of late;
concepts to which I sped like mercury
escape my understanding, so I wait
and in the meantime sleep quite steadily.
Concepts to which I sped like mercury
move at their normal speeds as I delay
and, in the meantime, sleep quite steadily;
I am no more quicksilver in my way.
Move at your normal speed as I delay;
escape my understanding as I wait.
I am no more quicksilver in my way;
my mind has been molasses as of late.
Three trees: translationThree trees
by Gabriela Mistral, translation by Ryan Yates
Three felled trees
lay still by the wayside of the trail.
The woodsman had forgotten them, and they commune,
entangled with love, like three blind men.
The setting sun pours
its lifeblood into the wounded logs
–and the winds, they carry the fragrance
of its opened side!
One, twisted, extends
its immense arm of trembling foliage
toward another, and its wounds
like wide eyes cry, brimming with anguish.
The woodsman had forgotten them. The night
still comes. I will be with them.
I will receive in my heart their dying
resins. They will ignite me as would fire.
–And muted and blinded,
the sunrise will find us in a mound of pain!
por Gabriela Mistral
Tres árboles caídos
quedaron a la orilla del sendero.
El leñador los olvidó, y conversan,
apretados de amor, como tres ciegos.
El sol de ocaso pone
su sangre viva en los hendidos leños
¡y se llevan los
AboveThe words with which you once disparaged me
were swords which sliced at my soles
They made every step feel like falling
But now your weapons are grass in November
their glittering blades
like clouds beneath my feet
Every step feels like flying
TempleDaily we crack
our joints free of rust
built up from yesterday’s wear—
this daydream wears me
down to bone, when
I’ve no shelter
myself a tower
out of royal blue and silver, spun
and soldered at the seams
with the mists of dreams
flowing freely where they’re woven
like the waters from the
stream of my
Pompton LakesHow am I to know if I am sick?
My heart beats quickly
at the thought
of how they strictly
said we ought not
to swim in lakes or rivers when I was five.
A comedy of errors, so to speak; rather,
a leak in the disposal
of a sediment they owned
The traces in the rocks
we somewhat mocked.
When we took stock and told the story,
we chalked it up to silly worry—
Now that we know the score,
my hometown sued for reparations
for the traces in foundations
and the cleanup’s still not done.
the river from our park
and the lake from common use.
no lives– thank higher powers– but that’s still not an excuse.
I’m not sick.
But to be strict, I’m lucky I’m alive.
And when I was five?
How was I to know?
our highwaysthat day we walked along the freeway
cars rushed past
and blew your hair in circles
cars rushed past in mile-long arteries
blew our minds in circles
and we both were blushing
minds rushing in circles
we had trouble breathing
as we tried to talk
we were out of breath
yelling as we talked
over the rush of blood
yelling to each other
over the wind in our ears
but we couldn’t hear,
the noise in our ears was
louder than our voices
so we leaned in closer
louder than our voices
as we leaned in closer
rubbed our cheeks together
as we leaned in closer
rubbed our cheeks together
neared the intersection
and a moment just after
the lights turned red when
All in a Day's Work1.
Jaime coughed, leaned out the window of the tenement into the brisk morning air, and spat down to the grass below. He had been recovering from a mild bout of cold since their meeting with Callahan several days prior, and these actions had been frequent over the course of the last few days, though they were now growing less frequent. The bottom of Nat's eye twitched up for a second in its equivalent of a grimace.
“I know you're not feeling well, but there are rooms for that. I'm not going to deal with the situation if you spit on someone's head by accident.”
“You told me that already, Nat,” the Nidoran replied, rolling his eyes. “I'm feeling better today, though.”
“That's good to hear.” Jaime had long ago stopped asking Nat how it was, because although Nat appreciated the formal demonstration of concern, it deemed it unnecessary in most scenarios. Its circuitry hardly failed, and its charging schedule was completely regular, much unlike
The Beginning of the Endit started with Greed.
She wrapped Her tentacles around their minds,
digging deep into their psyche and corrupting them.
it started with Lust.
He slipped unnoticed into their corrupt brains,
reaching down into their hearts and twisting them.
it started with Pride.
He appeared inside their twisted cores,
pumping His poison through their bodies.
it ended with Wrath.
She took control of their very beings,
forcing the gun to their head and pulling the trigger.
Keep It RealWhereas diasporic communities
Have to been attempting to separate themselves
From harsh sun and seasons,
Without reason, others have built their lives between
The cracks of statements such as:
“Keep it real”
Or, “This shit is dope”.
Motherfuckers better realize
Now, is time to self-actualize.
Daughters of SocietyWe are the daughters of the lost and the damned,
with black rings under our eyes,
both of which married without my blessing,
and don’t seem to be in any
position for separation soon.
We are the daughters
who were told and told and told
to cover our bodies
because we are moral distractions
and it’s all our fault anyway,
and taught that help will come if you ask;
then taught to yell ‘fire’ instead of ‘rape’,
or no one would bother to help you at all.
We are the daughters
who were taught to live a balanced and healthy life,
and that we were capable of anything and could do whatever
kicked in the back of our knees,
then thrown into series of three-hour-long extortions
to determine what we couldn’t ever do in life.
We are the daughters
who were taught to appreciate a man’s whistles and
encouragement to smile as we walk,
as if we were there only to satisfy their primal urges
and not because we needed to bu
g-Host b-LinkTo witness disobedience of dogs of the Matrix;
Are souls breaking free or is it part of the script?
Do even the patients begin losing patience
Attempting to dissect what they cannot reflect?
Are implications of home not enough of a bone
To be thrown to the starving who plot against the throne?
Too sober to stagger with their cloak-and-dagger,
Dehydrated parasites starving for insight
on what a nomadic soul is composed
when compressed into senses and structured and clothed
and closed off from links to a red-herring source
by force and by failure to
And by what right
Does a false light take flight
While uncomfortable truths
Take their place out of sight?
When confronted, you contort.
When in question, you distort.
By lies you are comprised
Yet by every report, you
Every second you delay me, every thought that disobeys me,
Every law of attraction failing due to inaction,
Every memory haunting, regardless how daunting,
Not My Cross to BearNot My Cross to Bear
Who errs must ask forgiveness
Who sees will forgive
I walk this earth as he had then
I ask merely Let me live
The right is always mine
Their errors are ever theirs
Not ever my cross to bear
They haven't right to make me bear it
I have my own cross
And I wear it
To whom it concerns:
Bear thy cross by thy self
The Newspapers Tell Me Too MuchDoes it matter how much blood might've spilled
Over one mistake of which I still feel the guilt
Gamma rays got shot straight through my brain
Can I still undo what has made me more insane
I have never gotten silenced by the crowd
I do not shut up just state my mind less loud
Do you blame me for not wanting to get mauled
I've had a life of pain don't say it's my fault
Have you ever walked on a diverted path to see
The dead bodies along it blended in the scenery
I want understanding but on the other hand
Don't want everyone to suffer under that demand
Recently I've decided it's not what matters to me
From what I have read in the newspapers lately
Never was I this positive about such a negative thing
Out of my sight I know there's so much dying
Shaking my head to myself I strut onwards again
Looking up at the fireless sky now that I still can
I might sound hopeless or out of my mind somehow
But I honestly believe the world is fucked by now
The ReignDrip Drop,
Down the drain.
Oh the reign
The dew will form.
Human ChessIsn't the world in black and white?
Isn't the world in 8 by 8?
Aren't we all part of some
Sick, inhumane game of chess,
Being played off against one another?
Are we pawns?
Then why are we being played,
like mere peices,
cogs in a machine,
to acheive an end goal?
It's because of divide and conquer.
An army of 100 is a lot easier to defeat
When it is only an army of 10.
We are being split, you see.
Black and white,
male and female,
old and young,
all subcategories, to keep us
Unity seems to be a word humanity forgot;
the idea, the essence of standing together,
under the principle that we're all
is alien to us now.
So here we are,
There's nothing going our way, as
because we are being divided.
And yes, we are being conquered.
In this sick, corrupt world of ours,
where every fork in the road
cuts like a knife,
we must pick the higher path.
We must not fall for the illusion that
there is no unity.
We must unite.
We must join, u
gaiai hear her cries as if
they were my own and
i want to hold her and say that
it will turn out alright,
the pain will subside,
in the end it will all turn to silence
and i try, so hard so hard
to grasp at her with my
and feel the rumble of life
beneath the crust of my home
for she is growing
and she is so young,
in this vast expanse of nothingness
she shines with the brilliance of
a newborn child
learning to breathe
but i fear,
for she is so young and yet
her time is running out,
spilling between my fingers and
it is my fault, i who do nothing but
stand and watch as she hurts
as she is tortured by the
forces of man,
fuelled by greed and the
need to push us forward,
to fit us all on her body,
as if we were so significant
and i feel her wrath,
her wish to purge herself of
this plague that is us,
and i sit in serenity
waiting for her to strike us
with the strength of four billion years.
X's and Y'scomes down to the forty-sixth
I've got oaken leaves on the ashen strips
and they can't tell by looking in my eyes
there's nothing wrong with a simple life
based on anything else in the first forty five
but that's not what they want to hear me say
we could chat here for hours
about Halo or flowers
and there's no shame in liking them both
but at some point you'd ask me
to answer the question
so you could tell me which was wrong
I retreat to a world
made of crystal and pearl
with the beautiful boys
and the beautiful girls
so that I can be friends
with whoever I want
make a life for myself
based on what's in my thoughts
and can cry
at the near-perfect world
where the people are nice
and the morals are closer
to black and to white
it's a mess– pretty, though
and nature and harmony are king
but on earth I'm content
to hold ashes of oak
and of juniper
and hope that no one will ask
and hope that in October
the sixth, the forty-sixth
won't become a crude joke
about X's and Y's
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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