129 days.
One by two by three by four I meet agents and recruits, those beings ground down in the mechanics of Armageddon, the fiery child of ancient myth, lost in hiding and found within, we're meeting on the street drinking whiskeys neat.
Ginzilla Beastmode, tattoo model writer artist turned on old soul who's very much in the know, a firm father's military hand keeps her strong when she bears her fangs. The Worldserpent rages across her stomach as the trinity of wolves keep safe her womb.
Every idea seems to feed one another's, blending mix media conceptual performance soundtrack dazzling set design dancing upon the stage inside our boiling inspired minds. Now is our time, encapsulate and personify but never imitate nor falsify.
The fuse has been lit, or perhaps I've just noticed, having hit the snooze button on the impending cataclysmic wake up call for all humanity. I start at the beginning of the second round, and I don't even remember how awesome I did in the first.
I wake up in a large (overly decadent no matter how sparse considering the living spaces I've managed to live through) apartment and saunter naked to the bathroom occasionally leaving an equally nude young lady in my bed, drink some juice from the container, and pass back out on my couch.
This may seem normal to most, and even somewhat so to me 8 years ago, but this is my own space where I can dwell, alone, when I want to. I have leaned on many just to survive for years but always overpaying back the world when I can. I made a fair living and drank most of it away, but I paid my way in the end.
Now, first book collected and well received, as well as other projects on the side, now begins my real life. The sequel! More guns, bombs, and boobage as battles break out and the tension is doubled in a scary landmine catastrophe! This time with actual living other characters outside this writer's mind!
I thought I was supposed to prepare for Ragnarok, but that's just the beginning of the end of the world, and I have such grand designs.
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