Consciousness returned to Grignr in stygmatic pools
So...his consciousness forms hellish pools. Whatever. And what does "stygmatic" mean? Is that something like "stigmatic"... which doesn't make any sense because that is a person with religious stigmata? Is it a stygian/hellish stigmatic? WHY DO THE WORDS NOT MAKE SENSE?
as his mind gradually cleared of the cobwebs cluttering its inner recesses,
"AAAAAAAAA! I HAVE SPIDERS IN MY BRAINS!"
Also, does anyone out there actually believe that Greg has "inner recesses" to his mind? When I think "Greg Nur's mind," I think of a cardboard box. A small cardboard box. Possibly with no flaps.
yet the stygian cloud of charcoal ebony remained.
.... so.... there's a charcoal cloud in his mind? Along with cobwebs, apparently.
Also, for the record, charcoal and ebony do not have anything to do with each other. They are not even the same color - charcoal is more of a dark grey than a black.
An incompatible shield of blackness, enhanced by the bleak abscense of sound.
- The sentence fragments, they BURN!
- There is no such thing as an abscence. If I had to guess what it is, I'd say it's what happens when you put incense in an abscess.
- How can something like that be enhanced by a shield of blackness?
- What is the shield of blackness incompatible with?
Grignr's muddled brain reeled from the shock of the blow he had recieved to the base of his skull.
"Well, my neck's broken. Must be Tuesday."
The events leading to his predicament were slow to filter back to him.
I suspect "I stubbed my toe" is slow to filter back to Greg.
He dickered with the notion that he was dead and had descended or sunk
... into a giant pot of lukewarm gravy.
Also, "dickering" means bargaining. As in, with someone else. So he's bargaining with himself that he was dead?
however it may be, to the shadowed land beyond the the aperature of the grave
So... this shadowed land is about seven feet underground?
but rejected this hypothesis when his memory sifted back within his grips.
"Hmmmm, having examined all the data and backlogs of prior experiments, I must conclude that my initial hypothesis was erroneous."
This was not the land of the dead, it was something infinitely more precarious than anything the grave could offer.
It was LAX during the holiday season!
Death promised an infinity of peace, not the finite misery of an inactive life of confined torture, forever concealed from the life bearing shafts of the beloved rising sun.
Apparently Greg doesn't believe in hell, huh? I guess that explains his bad behavior.
Also, for somebody who just hiked across a desert (even one with GRASS and humid air), he seems pretty obsessed with being in the sun. This mini-chapter is half done and he is STILL wanking on and on about the horrors of being incarcerated instead of, y'know, DOING something about it.
The orb that had been before taken for granted, yet now cherished above all else.
Dude, you've been in prison for like ten minutes, and you were passed out for nine of those. Enough with the Drama Llama stuff.
To be forever refused further glimpses of the snow capped summits of the land of his birth
I'm going to assume that he means mountains here. Also, this would be slightly more dramatic if we knew ANYTHING about the land of Accordion at all. Er, I mean Accordia. Uh, Ecordia.
never again to witness the thrill of plundering unexplored lands
"WAAA WAAA WAAA! Feel sorry for me because I can't steal and rape my way across the continent! Life is so unfair! Everybody sucks! Except me, because I'm a barbarian and therefore the asshole hero of the piece!"
beyond the crest of a bleeding horizon,
Okay, that's beyond the pale! Who beat up the poor horizon!
and perhaps worst of all the denial to ever again encompass the lustful excitement of caressing the naked curves of the body of a trim yound wench.
- What does "yound" mean?
- How do you encompass - which basically means to form a circle around - lustful excitement?!
- So apparently the worst thing about being imprisoned and sentenced to a long lingering slow death is... NOT GETTING LAID! Yes! The worst thing about prison is the lack of sexy babes! Unless you're in a women's prison, in which case you have a slightly higher chance of finding them! Not very high, though! And you might have to fight Ballsy Bertha who tends to keep all the sexy babes to herself!
But don't worry, Greg. I'm sure soon you'll find some pitiful shred of humanity who will allow you to bugger him in exchange for a pack of cigarettes! Wait, does Greg have cigarettes? I guess not, so he's screwed... or rather, he's not screwed.
This was indeed one of the buried chasms of Hell
A few minutes ago he was insisting that he WASNT dead, and that death always gave peace and tranquillity, and now he's saying it's hell. MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND!
concealed within the inner depths of the palace's despised interior.
Despised interior? Well that is just a sucky thing to say. How dare you! The interior designer just ran off crying because you badmouthed her work.
And how does he know where the hell he is? Is there a convenient tourist map on the wall with a little "you are here" sticker? Is there a skylight to the palace's despised interior? Is there a big neon sign on the wall that says "Dark Dungeon of Despairing Doom, located just below the Big Ass Palace You Were Just In Five Minutes Ago!"
A fearful ebony chamber devised to drive to the brinks of insanity the minds of the unfortunately condemned
- Uh... we don't even know what this room looks like. It's hard to take all this shrieking seriously when we don't even know WHAT THE ROOM LOOKS LIKE.
- Wow, Greg, DRAMA MUCH?
- How exactly does an EMPTY ROOM that you have been in for like ten minutes drive people insane? Is it painted bright green with purple spots? Cuz that would make ME insane.
through the inapt solitude of a limbo of listless dreary silence.
- What does inapt mean? I think he means "inept," but that word still doesn't work unless the solitude is really bad at being... lonely.
- I suppose Mr. Theis thought it was very wonderfully subtle to keep using these afterlife words!
- It's been TEN MINUTES, WILL YOU PLEASE STOP WHINING?!
And then the chapter ENDS. The entire chapter was about Greg freaking out because OH NO THEY LOCKED ME IN A DARK ROOM! We don't even know what the room looks like! It might have floral wallpaper and nice antique furniture and a little old lady being interrogated by the Spanish inquisition... but we don't know about that because GREG IS EMO. He hasn't even stood up yet! He hasn't even opened his eyes! He just lies there and whines about how he's going into sex withdrawal because BOOHOO he'll never get to fondle naked ladies again! It's been TEN MINUTES, dude.
Sadly, this is not the end! The pain is ongoing! Seriously, just kill me with a copy of Twilight!