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Bil's Journal

7th April, 2008. 4:48 pm.

You're Ulysses!

by James Joyce

Most people are convinced that you don't make any sense, but compared
to what else you could say, what you're saying now makes tons of sense. What people do
understand about you is your vulgarity, which has convinced people that you are at once
brilliant and repugnant. Meanwhile you are content to wander around aimlessly, taking in
the sights and sounds of the city. What you see is vast, almost limitless, and brings you
additional fame. When no one is looking, you dream of being a Greek folk hero.

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at the Blue Pyramid.

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5th January, 2006. 12:27 pm.

Today I saw a car with a Guam license plate.


Hmm, probably from someone just transferred from Guam in the military, and hasn't had a chance to change his plates yet, but still...

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18th July, 2004. 12:47 am.

A little fic for WH40K that no one on any WH40K board commented on, so I thought I would throw it up here.

Hoya's Story

No matter where Hope of Eidilla was, its shipboard time changing to what system it was in, Hoya always managed to wake five minutes before the morning bell. Usually he would use the showers before the rest of the troopers in the hall rushed into them. Other times he would lay in his bunk, mentally organizing his day, considering each detail so nothing would surprise him again. The murmurs and mutterings of still-dreaming troopers still lost in the missions that had brought them here were the only distraction.

On this day he did the rarest of his morning rituals, quietly leaving his bunk and going to the lockers at the end of the hall to open his and dig out an old dog-eared copy of the Infantryman’s Primer. Opening it revealed a cavity, made by glued-together pages, containing a primitive spear point.

Officially, none of the troopers were supposed to have weapons off duty, especially not in their barracks, to make sure that fights didn’t get out of hand. There were always a few ship’s armsmen willing to turn a blind eye, but this was something Hoya felt unwilling to leave to the mercy of an armsman’s judgment.

Just touching brought back the memories of a gaggle of young boys, bored with the schola’s endless routines - all intended to make them the finest stormtroopers that the Imperium had ever seen (and that they would be, they had no doubt.) Still it seemed like the routines were also intended to bore them to death, and their one diversion had been teasing the old auroch bull on the schola’s farm. A whole set of rules for scoring arose. Soon they had to throw rocks from inside the enclosure and scramble out just ahead of the auroch’s horns to even begin to score points.

It was Hoya’s suggestion that led to the coup stick. He had a distant uncle from his mother’s tribe that would visit from the foothills every few seasons while on trade missions. The uncle had been a Rough Rider in the Imperial Guard and had shown Hoya some of the gear he had kept. Among them was a coup stick which warriors would use to prove their bravery by touching their enemies and leaving them alive.

The rest of the boys told him that he was the lucky one, that he still had someone living.

Within a week they fashioned the spear point out of stone and scrap metal, attached it to a pole and Kilchii marked the auroch on the shoulder from inside its pen. Quickly the pole became a stick and most likely they would have soon been using just the spearpoint itself when a passing Sororitas teacher spotted them, nearly getting Nik killed by distracting him while he was in range of the auroch’s hooves. They had all gotten a beating for wounding the auroch and it was only by some clever and impassioned quotations of the Emperor’s Beautitudes that they remained on the stormtrooper curricula rather than becoming Ecclesiarch castrati.

Sometimes Hoya wonders if it would have been better if they had left the stormtrooper curricula then. Not to become castrati, there was no way he could justify that, not even in jest, but anything else would have been better than what finally did happen.

Hoya put away the spearpoint and forced himself not to look at Kilchii as he did so. Kilchii never looked his way, even though his bunk was right by the lockers and he had taught Hoya the early rising habit, but he continued to steadfastedly refuse to get out of the bunk early or even acknowledge him. Hoya doubted Kilchii even knew that he had kept the spearpoint from among Nik’s things when they were both packing the rest of the squad’s effects.

Hoya was already shrugging on his dutyjacket when the ship’s bell woke the rest of the troopers in the hall. It still felt odd to see the ship’s insignia where the regimental one once had been, the fabric slightly discolored around the edges because the different patch shapes aged the fabric differently.

Kilchii smoothly got out of the bunk with no hesitation when the ship’s bell rang, confirming Hoya’s suspicion that he had been lying awake.

They nodded to each other, painfully formal despite years of easy familiarity. Like always, Hoya had to begin the conversation. That hadn’t changed, at least.

“We have to mount the new bolters today.”

“The ship’s chirugeons want the squadron’s extraction medics this morning, they have some new procedures they want to go over.”

A simple nod on Hoya’s part continued the conversation, even though he wasn’t sure Kilchii had seen it. “I’ll start working on the new mounts then. Join me when you finish?”

Kilchii gave an affirmative grunt, one that Hoya could still easily decipher from when Kilchii tried to avoid speaking for several months because his voiced had changed last and had taken an especially long and embarrassing time to do so. Kilchii cut off the chance for further conversation by turning away to head towards the showers.

As Hoya left, resigned and trying to figure out how to reach Kilchii, the traitorous thought that he had lived with for the last six months returned, ever since he and Kilchii returned to their barracks to pack the rest of the squad’s effects and were summarily told by a Munitorum aide that they would be reassigned to an Imperial Navy squadron since just two survivors of a stormtrooper squad were of no use to the regiment.

The rest of the squad had been the lucky ones.

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18th July, 2004. 12:36 am. No surprise...

You're a Plot writer!

What kind of writer are you?
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4th March, 2004. 1:24 pm.

I am an Intellectual

Which America Hating Minority Are You?

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19th February, 2004. 4:08 pm.

Your muse is Thalia, the Flourishing. She is the
muse of comedy, and her symbol is the comic
mask. You love comedy, whether it be Monty
Python, Mel Brooks, Terry Pratchett, or Jim
Carey. I have no doubt I'll see you on Comedy
Central sometime soon...

Which of the Nine Muses is your muse?
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4th January, 2004. 1:35 am.

You are Drama.
You are extroverted and like to show off, but can
be very subtle and intelligent when you want.
As an expert at story-telling, you love
attention and have developed the skill of
keeping it.
You get along well with Literature and Film.

What form of art are you?
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16th December, 2003. 1:59 pm. Oh, this makes so much sense...

Bunson jpeg
You are Dr. Bunson Honeydew.
You love to analyse things and further the cause of
science, even if you do tend to blow things up
more often than not.

Scientific inquiry, Looking through microscopes,
Recombining DNA to create decorative art.
"Now, Beakie, we'll just flip this switch and
60,000 refreshing volts of electricity will
surge through your body. Ready?"

John Cougar Melonhead

"Quantum Physics: 101 Easy Microwave

An atom smasher and plenty of extra atoms.

What Muppet are you?
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30th November, 2003. 1:57 am.

My Phase is Nemesis

Which Phase of the Greek Tragic Cycle Are You?

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24th February, 2003. 4:08 pm. Writing and Business amd it turns out to be mostly about school

Sometimes I really dislike my fellow students.

We have these proofs for stats class. Let me be upfront about this, I hate proofs, they are among the most useless endeavours inflicted upon students. I'm never going to use them again, I'm never going to work out regressions by hand anyplace but in this class, and I would be able to consult with a statistician as compared to the false reality of a grad class where we are supposed to do all of our work as if we were the last statistician on Earth.

>Sudden vision of Charlton Heston on the top of computer desk fending off hordes of zombies bearing slide rules with a keyboard, yelling for them to eat STATA 8, you SPSS drones!

>Hrm, it seemed funnier in my head.

Anyway, we had a review session today to go over some really nasty problems that are due tomorrow.

So of course no one shows up but me. We had gone over the time repeatedly, because I knew I would need help with this, but no one came. No one emailed. No one called.

You see, we are all adults here, you know. And yet they feel nothing at blowing off a study session. That or they all decided to change it without telling me. Which is possible, in an non-malicious way, but still very frustrating.

And yeah, I was going to talk about the business and other writing projects but I needed to vent about this first. Maybe I will get back to the other stuff soon.

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