I haven’t written on here for far too long, so I just thought I would give a brief update on what I’ve been doing! I have been working on developing a visualisation framework for the Eclipse IDE to allow developers to overlay any type of metrics information on top of their source code. It is exciting stuff and taking far far too long!
This is a tester/introductions for a possible novel concept… Let me know what you think…
The price of cheese was of great concern to Tybol, in the last few years it had more than doubled in price. Tybol liked cheese, it was a fantastic substance; versatile, elastic and even crumbly. He mulled over it as he walked down the road to the mall. Cheese on top of pasta or pizza, even as cheesecake. He salvinated slightly, feeling quite greedy from the thoughts. He walked into the mall, crossing first through the covered carpark. The hustle and bustle increased and soon found himself surrounded with an extended throng of people. This was hardly surprising given it was a Saturday. He thought briefly about the lovely rolling sound of the word ‘throng’, before quickly dismissing it. As he walked along, he found himself behind a slow moving couple, hand in hand and blissfully unaware. A tad frustrated, he tapped hard with his feet. A gap appeared and he scooted around them, careful not to ram into the girlish characters passing in the other direction.
(And yes it meant to appear corny and a tad retarded.)
The aim of the competition is to write the ending to a short story (in 100 words or less).
The start of the story…
Gillibert crept carefully up the stairs, his hairy clawed feet making little sound. He could see the light shining under the door ahead and knew that this was the right room. The door creaked loudly as he pushed his way inside, but he didn’t mind because he could see it now; the Gold Chest of Kerlami was within reach. His eyes wide with hope, his long brown nails scraped the surface of the Chest and he opened the lid to reveal…
My ending…
…absolute nothingness. There were no gold ducats, no gem encrusted daggers. Just emptiness. He stared down, trying to see something, anything. Gillibert didn’t have time to be amazed. As if he was being forcibly pulled down, he kneeled closer. His nose touched the indescribable substance. It rippled. Suddenly, he was no longer in the same room.
Gillibert arrived, a howl caught in his bulky throat. Bright lights shone above him, he found himself in a narrow alcove of some vast structure. To the borders of his vision were shelves and shelves of colourful tomes… Was he back?
Check it out for yourself: http://www.borders.co.nz/beedle-the-bard/the-tale-tree.asp
Hey people… Here is a thread, go wild. If you havent posted on the site before, it may take a little while for your post to come up 
Note: This is the continuation of a long thread on the UCD private list…
The dappled sunlight slowly warmed her bent figure. She curled her white clad body, as if she was attempting to remove herself from this reality entirely. Taut and rigid her body contracted, as if trying to wish away the fabric that swirled around her. Her hands, gloved in satin, clenched at the fresh ground. The power of her grasp pulled tufts of grass from the hard soil. Crushing the tufts left vivid green imprints in the memory of the fabric.
Her breath came in short disbelieving rasps, attempting to remove the crushing pain from her lungs. Beneath the shade of a veil, she clenched her eyes in a desperate attempt not to let her aready saline skin from being touched again. The utter destruction of the perfectly applied make up was clear. Dark stains pitted her cheeks. In utter defiance of her emotion, golden locks struggled for superority against the white fabric, glinting as her body clenched tighter.
She had managed to escape their gaze. All that could see her now where two robins in the blossoming tree above. They cocked their heads in unison as if they understood everything.
More to come…
At university, one has the uncommon luck to run into the most interesting of people. I refer specifically to an unnamed ancient lecturer of MATH 115, a course whose material is so dry, the lecturer could never be blamed for his comments. For instance, during a lecture on graph theory this morning, he said:
“This type of weather is ideal to see bare skin and clevage bursting out all over the place.”
It appears that this is not his only comment on the flesh. During one lecture, when an attractive lady walked in and somebody ventured a wolf whistle. He said to the whole class… “I agree!”
He tends to burst into song at random points throughout his lecturers, apparently, he also made some joke about dyslexia in one of his lectures which got him in trouble with the university board.
I have had a lot of excellent lecturers. For example, Wal, my software engineering lecturer, spends 10 minutes of each lecture telling us meaningful parables from his travels around the world. It seems this is not simply a teaching tool as he tends to tell them whether they have an obvious meaning or not. Having said that, the stories are absolutely, fantastically brilliant. Whether about surviving being stranded in the jungle or drinking toe infused beverages, they are always worth the their weight in gold!
A rambling to Erin, August 2008
As a prophet once talked of his shoes. Many footsteps you will take, repairs you may need, and feet you will walk beside. He then proceeded to wear his only pair of shoes for the entire day, after repeating the experience many a time, he noticed something quite peculiar. They did start to smell. The prophet could not believe that the shoes he had doted over could do something so unpleasant. So he took his shoes down to river and washed them. Thus endith the parable of the shoe.
So, you must understand that the parable of the shoe became a closely guarded secret, in the last land to the North, a secret cult, connected only through myth and a smattering of pass-codes was established. In the cold, arctic silences, the cult of sandal became a source of hope for many. And thus the was a young man, sheltered by a tattered anorak, from the blizzard who came to the town. And as he passed down the street and into the maze of ally ways, he came across a wizzened man smoking a long, curved hook pipe. Into that man’s ear, he whispered the secret pass-code. A word which seldom passed the lips of men, ‘Happy Birthday‘. The man stirred from his whist slumbers and drew aside a roughly pulled scrap of curtain.
The young man drifted down the long, dank passageway. Eventually, the light increased and he entered a large atrium, tapestries hung from the walls and teased black bear pelts warmed the ground. A drumming sound, filled occasionally with the clash of mental came from the next room. He drew aside another curtain and he was flooded. Light, sound and colour hit his face with a rush of non-opaque emotion. The scents of roasted meat and toasted nuts drew him in, pricked with the scent of precious perfumes and surrounded with an impenetrable acrid smoke that not only filled his nose, but watered his eyes.
A banner above the dias, at the far end of the room, proclaimed in large letters, ‘Rineay Irthdaibay Appihay’. As he stood there, strong hands took his coat and presented him with a goblet of mead. The party lasted long through that dark night, much merriment and feasting ensued. For long nights hence, the young man remembered the lap of the beautiful girl on which he slept. For many years hence he came to that secret place every year.
Thus time became legend, legend became myth… Happy Birthday!
A man ran down the gangway, neon lights pumped behind him. He sprinted even faster; sweat pouring off him in streams. His long hair undulated behind him. As he approached the final corner he slowed, breathing heavily, he brushed back his hair and stepped out onto the deck of the cruiser.
“How can I help” he panted.
“My Alesia received first degree burns and radiation poisoning when our computer miscalculated our Larange point vector,” the disheveled man cried.
Even as they spoke, the computerized team moved into action. One jagged, sphere shaped robot hovered over the blackened, heaving body. Mechanoids moved in, gently moving the body onto a floating stretcher. Tubes snaked down from the sphere, providing vital drugs and nutrients to the scared body. The stretcher moved away, floating on the air back the way it had came and disappeared.
I watched on, mini-cams focused in on the events and relayed them across the hyper-sphere.
… …
(Written April 2006)