The humorous version.

http://boredmuse.deviantart.com

The girl watched the Inspector's head barely miss the table behind him as he fainted. It would be a shame if he injured himself that way wow. After all she had uses for him. She couched down next to him.

----

Lee felt slowly returned to consciousness to find someone leaning over him. His eyes refused to open much than a slit and nothing wold focus. The concussion he no doubt gave himself along with the hangover made everything spin. He felt himself being hauled up and dumped on something soft.

He felt something inside his head that started as mild pressure and bloomed into stabbing pain.

Lee screamed. Everything went black again.

---

The girl wondered why the unconscious man on the couch had screamed so much when she got rid of his concussion and the hangover. Surely it couldn't have been that painful?

Then again she didn't have a frame of reference for pain anymore.

Hopefully he would wake up in time to use what was in the packet she left on his chest. The druggie she healed had proven so useful.

----

When Lee woke up a second time he was feeling much better. There were no signs of freaky blue eyes having been anywhere near him except for a bulging envelope sitting right on his chest with blue bow and note. This might be relevant to your interests. Merry Christmas - Emo Santa

Back to your to the spastic story...with no background whatsoever

Two rough looking ladies (let's call them L1 and L2 for now) are sitting on bar stools, each having a pint of Guinness. They're in the middle of a rather heated discussion. You may have encountered the second one before.

L1: You agree that there are chill creatures in both sexes, yes?

L2: Yes.

L1: You also agree that both sexes have their own share of assholes?

L2: Yeah.

L1: Then why do you treat G1 like an asshole?

(G1 happens to be close friends with L1)

L2: ...because he's an asshole..

L1: Come on he's nice.

L2: No, he's nice to you. G1 is a dick to everyone else.

L1: You can't know that.

A beat passes, while L2 just looks at L1.

L1: Of course you do. I forgot who I was talking to.

We interrupt the story to bring you an important rant...

Why do people keep continuously subscribing to one predefined reality or another?
What's with this fucking philosophical bullshit about plutocratic, monotheist, Gnostic, capitalist, democrat, communist, anarchist.. long story cut short - religious and political bullshit?
Can't you people think of anything without bringing Christ or Satan into the picture? You bloody right and left wingers aren't any better. Everything is about some man figure. The woman is some secondary passive vessel. The fucking passive victim and the bloody active sinner in Christianity. The sub-human piece of meat for Muslims and a lot of Asian regimes China, Japan, Korea ..it doesn't matter. Hindus aren't any better. We used to have an enlightened scientific community where men and women were equal and scientific discovery was very much valued.
Then the invasions came. First, all the Islamic barbarism and later Christian colonialism. We kept fucking ourselves up.
They burnt down the fucking library of Alexandria as well. We're a bunch of morons. Hopelessly trapped in religious symbolism and pseudo-intellectual philosophical bullshit.

...It's only getting worse.


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Inspector Lee woke up on his couch with only the mildest of hangovers. It wasn't Merlot, but a pretty decent red wine anyway.

------

Minsky had come over as promised with take out and they'd chatted about things that had nothing to do with the girl. Even though those empty eyes kept haunting him, his mood eventually lifted and serious thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind. Minsky finally left close to midnight, after extracting a promise from him that they would meet up on Christmas day if his wife wasn't back in town.

"There's no way you are staying by yourself on Christmas, Lee! Otherwise you'll come in to work the next day and tell me that the spooky teenager visited you for milk and cookies, like an emo Santa."

Lee had laughed at that and walked her to her car. Later, he finished the rest of the bottle and passed out to the dull sounds of a blowhard talk show host.

-----

Lee cursed himself for leaving the blinds open as the harsh winter sun, reflected of some fresh snow, stung his eyes and near blinded him. He stumbled towards the blinds with a hand over his eyes closed and pulled them shut. Much better, he thought and opened his eyes, only to see the very pair of blue eyes that he'd tried so hard to forget last night staring back at him.

She smiled at him and Lee passed out for the second time in less than 24 hours.

There were cuts and bruises. Some from brutal fights, which were beyond the ability for most to stomach. Some were self-inflicted during down times, with nothing else to distract from the pain. The strong need for ...something. Something that was just beyond conscious grasp.

Nobody could see these scars. They weren't allowed to. Even if they caught a glimpse, it would be gone with the dawn. Sunlight healed them and the night hid them. These scars were private. Something personal to fill the need of something unnamed. They belonged to her and only her. The fights were a rush, with the scars as proof of life.

One night the opponents too many and the injuries were too too deep. Proof of life turned into the messenger of death. She could see the grim reaper leaning over her, as she sat bleeding out. A hood with no face and stars for eyes. Or so she thought. A vaporous creature of myth leaned leaned over her. Perhaps no more than dying phantom conjured by her brain.

It seemed curious though, the way it reached for her. There was no physical movement without a real body. But the impression was in her mind. It left no doubt as the world faded out. Curiosity and a sense of completeness inside her.

--------

The girl woke up blinking. She hardly needed sleep anymore. But when she did there were always dreams of stars and space. A dream of her past though - her old human past - that had never happened before.

The girl felt irritated. Staying in one area for too long did that to her. The neighborhood had changed far beyond anything she could have imagined since the last she'd been here. But that didn't mean anything. There were other places to see, people to observe...minds to play with.

She hopped from the a rooftop, onto a dividing wall in a back alley. Back alleys were a place of particular interest her. A better place to be than boring old "safe" main streets where proper citizens, with properly boring thoughts walked around. Afraid to set a toe out of line. She'd found some almost "fascinating" minds to play with here, in the back alleys, with their rotting garbage, winos, homeless people and of course dealers...and their customers.

The girl pushed a few strands out of her face as she watched one of said customers shoot something up, not ten feet away from the dealer. Said customer slid down a wall, twitched and stilled. The glazed look on her face belied the circus in her mind. She loved observing minds under the influence of something or the other. Straight lines became twisty labyrinths, psychedelic colors blurred around each and other and if she was lucky scattered half-formed ideas in the back of the mind snapped into place. Creation happening right at the source, untainted by words...like right now.

Quieter than a cat the girl slid down from her perch and walked up to the glassy-eyed woman. The latter didn't move a muscle, oblivious to the stringy haired figure in front of her. The girl bent close and placed her hands on the woman's head.

She came to see what misery would drive her to these alleys what darkness she tries to run from. foolish as it may seem she was disappointed, this was a coward running away from the petty challenges of her life.... a broken heart, a sad excuse for a mother, dead dreams ...she seemed pathetic... she could end her and put her out of her misery. Not worth her time., nothing new...or next morning their would be an excited woman who shoved her needles off the table and replaced them with paper and pencils. This women’s fate was entirely in her hands. Decisions...decisions.

The girl concentrated for a second and left her behind in the alley. Creative people weren't always considered sane. Who said her newly minted inventor couldn’t be crazy enough to be locked up later or drive herself to suicide by an unending barrage thoughts. She chuckled to herself. Anything was possible, and she couldn’t wait to find out.

Incredibly stupid teenagers who had no idea what they were talking about, or what they were doing. That's what the girl thought. Tiny lives burning up like matchsticks. So easy to play with. So amusing to watch.

Why, here was one a male of the species. A particularly testosterone addled moron. Who thought he was the ruler of this pitiful little pit, they called a city. It would be fun to see him fall.

____________

Derek thought he was doing the girl a favor. The pale stringy-haired freak sitting all alone on the bleachers, should be honoured that he was even talking to her. The only reason he was even looking at her was because he and his team needed their fix, and the girl could deliver. The big game was tomorrow, and they needed to wipe the floor with the competition. Then they could party. Barry's parents were out of town again and his was big enough for an after game party.

Wiping his sweaty face on his football jersey, Derek called a time out and jogged toward the little freak. The girl looked and smiled. It creeped him out. He really hoped this was worth it.

Experimenting with Typography.

It was snowing heavily when Inspector Lee stomped out of the all-night liquour shop, with two bottles of red wine in a plastic bag. Unlike Minsky and the rest of the force he wasn't much a beer drinker. No, he preferred the multiple layers of scent and taste that only a decent wine could provide. But he needed something to take the edge off, his encounter with the girl. Especially after he switched places with his partner in the interrogation room and she noticed nothing disturbing.

'Sure, she was bit weird looking; like someone who'd wandered off a Tim Burton set. But the girl didn't follow her (Minsky) with her eyes or anything'. In fact the girl resolutely ignored ignore Minsky. Head bent and stringy black hair covering her face.

"Go home Lee. get some rest. I'll take care of the paper work and bring you some take out later. I know it's been a tough week. Your wife being out of town this close to Christmas on a last minute assignment." Minsky elbowed him and walked back into the interrogation room.

The girl looked up again, while his partner was turned away. She stared straight at him again a and grinned. Dammit!
It was perfectly normal grin. Except that it didn't reach her yes.

Those icy blue eyes that should have shown so much, were empty. Not cold, not contemptuous, bereft of hope or sad. Just empty.

Inspector Wong Lee was no longer tired... One hour ago was he was. His shift should have ended now. he should have been home watching the game. He should have.
But instead Inspector behind the one sided mirror in the glass partition watching the "so called" interrogation of 15 year teenage girl by his younger partner Claire Minsky. She wasn't having much, if any, success. The girl ignored his partner completely, and was doing an excellent job of freaking him out at the same time.

Pale, skinny and black haired, the girl's ice-blue eyes was looking straight at him through the one-way mirror. He knew it wasn't possible. There was no way the girl could see him. The girl was simply looking at herself in the mirror and almost never blinking. It had to be sheer co-incidence that he was sitting in her line of sight. An accident. Right?
Inspector Lee chuckled nervously and told himself that he was being paranoid. He'd prove it to himself right now.

Lee pushed the chair back slowly, got up and walked over to the side. Then turned back to look at the girl and nearly jumped. Here eyes were still looking at him. 'Don't freak out', he told himslelf. She probably heard the chair scraping. Co-incidence.
No longer sure if he was trying to fool himself or not Inspector Lee tip-toed to other side of the room, this time not taking his eyes off her. The girl's eyes followed him across the room without fail. He tried not to faint. His partner would never let him hear the end off it.

Not enough sleep. That had to be it. Of course there was a way to check. He pressed the intercom button.

"Minsky..".

In the interrogation room, the girl smiled, and somehow that made it worse.

....to be continued.

Male chauvinists, racists, religious bigots... I classify them under one category. LOSERS!

You're not a loser if you are - a nerd, a loner, a skeptic, an atheist/agnostic etc. Pretty much a free thinker, who challenges society's accepted norms.

Two for the long gap: Pretentious & Pop

Upper image: Moss covered stones, Curliness for Flora & lizard footprints for Fauna.

What do you mean it's not symbolic? *Snark*

Lower Image: I have ... no idea what I was doing here.. Maybe it was an Illuminati inspired fever dream?

Quote: This is important.

“Do you think that your 16 year old daughter hasn’t masturbated already? Like, do you really think there’s anything in that scene that this chick hasn’t already tried when the lights go out at night, or in the bathroom, or in the tub, or with the shower head or something like that? I’m telling you, man, I’m not teaching this broad anything new. If I were to create a rating system, I wouldn’t even put murder right at the top of the chief offenses. I would put rape right at the top, and assault against women. Because it’s so insanely overused and insulting how much it’s overused in movies as a plot device, a woman in peril. That, to me, is offensive, yet that shit skates.”

—	Kevin Smith (director) on the ridiculousness of movies about sex receiving NC-17 ratings while extremely violent movies get by with R ratings.

You stare into the abyss...

...and the abyss calls you rude. The rest are here: http://boredmuse.deviantart.com.

Testing the ping.fm service

I'm sitting on a blank here.

Not quite like:

Rather the boring brain blank Writer's block. You might add an Artist'ss block in there as well. Though I I'd have to be full of myself to call whatever I draw to qualify me as and artist.

I am conceited sometimes, but let's pretend I'm not for a moment. Shall we? So I'll humble it down to designer block. Simply put: Nothing to write / draw comes to mind. Maybe I should draw something about Writer's block to pass the time. Or maybe i should just link you to the tvtropes page Writer's block Montage. By the time your done extricating yourself from that lovely time eater, I may have come up with something again.

Or simply go to my tumblr page: http://boredmuse.tumblr.com/, and look at shiny things.

Mars had air...

...So the scientists say.

Find the full size image on my deviantart account.

Logic v/s Robots

Unemotional calculating humans cannot be labeled machines. Machines are passive mechanical beings with no thought or initiative. They are fed Instructions and perform programmed tasks, after which they spew out results. Cold calculating people can instead be designed as sentient intelligence, transcending humanity to another level. Self-awareness without emotion. if you will.

Why am I talking about this? A lot of writers in fiction, whether it be books, T.V. or movies seem to make this mistake all the time.

Yes, it's quite presumptuous of me to claim that they're wrong and I'm right. But this just irks me. It's a popular topic, and many writers just jump on the 'in-thing' bandwagon without doing any research.

Look up MB-TI websites and read about personality types and their multiple variations. They are explained simply enough. If bored teenagers and employees can do it. So can you.

Read Asimov & at the very least, please. Spock is not Data.

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