Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
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Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
@semperbufo.bsky.social
670 followers 280 following 7.5K posts
Son of Dangerous Cliff; Hal's little brother; Bazooka Girl's guy; Potato Pup's human; Monkey's dad. (In chronological order.)

Esoteric outsider touring reality. All pronouns welcome (including yours!).

#actor #author 💙📚 #artist #tech linktr.ee/semperbufo
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semperbufo.bsky.social
Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟 @semperbufo.bsky.social · 1d
The Smashwords End of Year Sale 2025 starts tomorrow!

#LovelyAssistant🎩 and #JackrabbitMessiah🐰 will both be 50% off for the #Holidays! 🎄🕎

For more info, visit SilhouetteUniverse.com 👤

To find and buy, follow the LINK BELOW…

#EoYSale25 #Smashwords
Geoph Essex's Novels on Smashwords
Buy Geoph Essex's “Silhouette” Novels through Smashwords.
sbufo.com
semperbufo.bsky.social
Playing "We gotta rescue Kermit!" for nearly an hour straight, my 3yo apparently learned the same lesson that TV series producers/writers learned decades ago: if you actually RESCUE Kermit then the whole thing's over, so that's the one thing you can never do.

Me? I rescued Kermit and got yelled at.
December 8, 2025 at 2:33 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
There are some songs that you'd normally never give the time of day and seem like the kinda thing your mom would hum along to while she was grading papers but because they hit the charts RIGHT when you were going through a messy teen relationship they have a goddamn iron grip on your heartstrings.
December 8, 2025 at 2:11 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "empty"

When a blackout hits in Chapter 5 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime"—right in the middle of some startling revelations—Detectives Charlie Gelman and Mae Tran can't help but wonder…

#ConfessionsFromTheSceneOfTheCrime🎳💀

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 5 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] Pulling Detective Tran along behind him, Charlie stumbled through the diner. He smacked his knee hard against a table, got momentarily tangled in a chair, but finally bumped into the door and fondled it as awkwardly as a sophomore at the senior prom until he found the handle. “Charlie,” Tran said quickly, following him out the door. “Where are all the emergency lights?” She had a point. The typical red halos he would expect to see here and there during a blackout were missing. The diner was completely opaque, and nothing glowed outside. He could feel the sharp wind on his face, and his eyes had adjusted enough that he could see Mae Tran next to him, her black outfit standing out against the slightly less black brick walls of the diner. Far above, the sky shifted with silvery gray hieroglyphs outlining moonlit clouds. It was an odd sight—usually, the clouds over New York picked up the grotesque pink and yellow glow of the city below them, basking in the reflected glory as if even the heavens themselves knew who had the upper hand. Dark skies over a darker Manhattan felt too much like a fully sensible reason to panic. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 5 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] “Jesus Christ, Charlie,” said Mae Tran, scanning for a light source and coming up empty. He could barely make out her features in the heavy gray ambience trickling down from the clouds. He swallowed hard, but kept his bravado up. “Didn’t know you were religious.” “You put in a good word with Hashem, I’ll return the favor.” “I haven’t been to temple since my wedding,” Charlie replied. “Mae, seriously...you think this has anything to do with...?” He frowned at their topic of conversation without naming it. “Strictly common sense?” Tran paused. “That’s the most self-absorbed, narcissistic thing we could possibly think right now. But...” She squeezed his hand and looked up at the giant black towers silhouetted before the dark gray sky. “I’m freaked out enough to give us a pass if that’s all we can come up with for the moment.” “I’ll, uh, say the Sh’ma or something,” Charlie offered. “I’ll do an Our Father.” “Deal.”
December 7, 2025 at 6:04 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "empty"

In Chapter 2 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective," P.I. Henry Ingersoll puzzles out some clues with his ex-partner Pete Farrelly. It's just like old times—except Ingersoll's not wearing gray anymore.

#TaleOfTheZombieDetective💀🔍

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 2 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] Farrelly took a deep breath. “This is the first I’ve heard on Alice, sorry. But Recorp—they’re in the pipeline every day.” He took a gulp of beer, wiped his lips with his sleeve. “They’re in talks with Security, Defense, Foreign Affairs...even the Policy Ministry. They’ve got something going on. Something big.” “Yeah, I think I read something about that,” I said. “They’re lobbying Policy for some legislative improvements geared toward transference?” “Not just improvements, Hank,” said Farrelly. “They’re aiming for large-scale changes. Stuff that hasn’t even hit the streets yet. Stuff they’ll have a monopoly on for decades.” “The Administration wouldn’t accept that,” I said. Farrelly shook his head. “Wrong. In exchange, Administration gets dibs on some of the latest technologies. Exclusive deals, I’d bet.” “What technologies?” “That’s all still locked up,” he said. “We’ve only got guesses, and nobody takes them seriously.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 2 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] “What’s your call?” I asked. “I couldn’t say for sure,” he said, taking another gulp and swallowing hard. “But I’m thinking copies. For Security, for Defense, Foreign Affairs. Labor, even.” “If the OLOBs caught that meme—” “Exactly.” The One Life, One Body proponents weren’t just a strong political lobby; they were fanatics. Most of them had a religious background and religious motivations, but the faction was much bigger than any one religion. I mused for a second. “Where would Recorp find empty bodies?” He shrugged. “The morgue, maybe?” “Even if they could get permission, cadavers would only last a few days, at most. The rider would have to be transferred again.” “And again, and again,” Farrelly agreed. “I didn’t say I had a solid lead. I’m just throwing out what I’ve heard.”
December 7, 2025 at 6:04 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
The Smashwords End of Year Sale 2025 starts tomorrow!

#LovelyAssistant🎩 and #JackrabbitMessiah🐰 will both be 50% off for the #Holidays! 🎄🕎

For more info, visit SilhouetteUniverse.com 👤

To find and buy, follow the LINK BELOW…

#EoYSale25 #Smashwords
Geoph Essex's Novels on Smashwords
Buy Geoph Essex's “Silhouette” Novels through Smashwords.
sbufo.com
December 7, 2025 at 6:18 AM
Reposted by Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
semperbufo.bsky.social
"So…you were bitten? By a radioactive spider?"

"…yes. That's how it happened."

"Really?"

"Y-yeah. How else could it—-I mean, yes. Spider. Radioactive. Bit me."

"That sounds implausible."

"No it doesn't."

"Peter, did you have sex with a spi—"

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP NO *YOU* FUCKED A SPIDER!"
December 5, 2025 at 2:44 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "hook"

In Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance," Lu Volasko learns they've got video of the crime, thanks to Judah Berenbaum's obsessive personality, rebellious attitude, and Leet Tech Skillz™.

#MyElectromagneticRomance🧲💕

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “Jeez, doc,” Mulray said. “You know you’re not supposed to bring in any unauthorized—” “Yeah, yeah,” Berenbaum waved him off dismissively. “I’m only the head of the whole damn *project* and all.” He smiled broadly at Lu Volasko. “So I kept it secret. I couldn’t move it, get all Spielberg with it,” he explained, madly spinning another screw free, “but it got pretty good shots of anything in line of sight...” The casing busted loose, and the two scientists eased it open. Inside, a small digital camera was securely screwed to a mount, surrounded by soft black foam and shiny square plates. Berenbaum flicked his fingers rapidly, unscrewing the camera and pulling it out. Three insulated cords dangled from it, noodling out from the case. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “Cross your fingers,” said Judah Berenbaum. He flipped a switch. The display lit up, and they heard the soft whirr of the autofocus lens adjusting itself. “Yes!” Greer Bean clapped and laughed, celebrating. She hugged Berenbaum’s shoulder. Mulray sighed, smiling. “Well,” said the security guard, “guess I can’t get too upset about it...” “Wait,” Lu said, reining in the celebration. “Why would you leave the camera on if you shut down the accelerator for the weekend?” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “I didn’t,” Berenbaum replied simply, pressing buttons on the back of the camera. “But I couldn’t let *their* cameras,” he jerked his head at Mulray, “see me messing around with *my* camera, or they’d know I snuck it in here. So I hooked it up so it would turn itself on and start recording whenever the mains were on.” He tugged on the cords for emphasis; a small box with two tiny lights was clipped to one cord. “I sneak in when we’re not working and dump everything onto a flash drive, like, once a month.” “Doctor Berenbaum,” Lu said formally, “I think I’ll go ahead and give you the credit you’re due.” She grinned. “You’re a genius.” He giggled as he held up the camera. “That’s what it says on my business cards.” Bean frowned adorably. “I told you to take that off...” “C’mon, let’s watch!”
December 6, 2025 at 3:58 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "hook"

In Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective," P.I. Henry Ingersoll angles to find out just how much his new client—who's also his ex-wife's second husband—knows.

#TaleOfTheZombieDetective💀🔍

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] A pained look crossed Richard’s face. He took a sip of his coffee. “Henry, please,” he said. “You have to find her. She knew about this, she knew about all this. But she kept making accusations...” “About what?” “About...she said there were already copies on the market.” He almost sounded like he was about to break down in tears. “She said the technology I was working on was being implemented. Years before legalization. Years before it’s even ready!” “And is she right?” “No!” he said, loud enough that some other folks glanced our way. He took his tone back down. If he was trying to convince me he wasn’t responsible for his actions, he was doing a hell of a job. “No, she’s not. We’re not doing it, not yet. But she said it was already being tried on zombies.” “And you don’t know anything about that?” I took a drag as the waiter dropped another gin-and-tonic on the table and cleared my empty glass. The young Italian kid said nothing about my cig. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] “I don’t,” he said. “I swear.” “But maybe it’s going on.” “If it is,” he said, fixing me with an earnest stare, “I don’t know anything about it.” I nodded, letting him off the hook. “But maybe Alice was onto something. Something you’ve been kept in the dark on.” He sighed. “It’s possible.” “Tell me about recombination,” I said. Partly just to demonstrate that I knew what I was talking about. He smiled ruefully. “You really do sound like Alice.” “We were a perfect match,” I said with an edge. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] He paused, and made a visible effort to ignore that remark. “Recombination is tricky,” he began. “That’s why the strictly commercial firms like Switcheroo are having so much trouble. A transfer removes material from one brain and then replaces it with new material. Even a copy isn’t such a big deal; you’re just duplicating the material in one brain and putting it into an empty one.” He was falling into Professor Mode; any time he started explaining his work, he fell into that trap. This time, I was counting on it, in case he might let something slip without thinking. “But taking material and actually appending it to a brain that already contains a full persona...well, it’s a problem. You might not have enough room. You might accidentally overwrite some existing data. You could disrupt the normal electrochemical flow in the destination brain, and end up with a damaged subject.” “A nutcase,” I suggested. He rolled his eyes irritably. “Yes, some brain damage can result in severe disability. That’s not the point.” I chuckled. “It might be to the ‘subject.’” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Tale of the Zombie Detective" (by me):] “The point is,” he continued without acknowledging my comment, “recombination has never been successful. Memory, motor skills...too many functions are affected, and we just don’t know enough about neurochemical fragmentation and reorganization to make it work.” “To your knowledge,” I said. Richard stared blankly. “What?” “Recombination has never been successful,” I clarified, “to your knowledge.” “Who do you think you’re talking to, Henry?” I hit him where it hurt—his intellectualism. “I’m the assistant director of research and development at the world’s foremost transference laboratory. If there had been successful test results on recombination anywhere in the world, I’d know about it.” “Whoa, cowboy,” I said. “I have a question.” “What is it?” he said curtly. “Was Alice going after all this for her piece?”
December 6, 2025 at 3:58 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "hook"

In Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week," Sharon's mention of her ruggedly handsome hitchhiking passenger grinds dinner conversation to a halt…but her daughter knows how to start it back up.

#StormOfTheCenturyOfTheWeek⛈️

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] Joey asked: “Are you going to marry him?” There was a deep pause as Joey’s sprouts *splopped* back into his stew and splattered his chin. The only movement in the kitchen was his arm wiping across the droplets on his face, and steam rising from the four bowls. “Joey,” Sharon said reassuringly, “I’m not going to marry him. I’m not marrying anybody.” “We hope,” added Sophia. “Quiet,” Sharon whispered to her. She looked back at Joey and included Nikki with her eyes. “Guys, that’s not how this works, okay? You don’t just meet somebody and get married. And I’m not looking around to *find* somebody to marry right now. Or...well, not now, not for a long time, if ever. And,” she hesitated, but figured this might be the concern, “nobody’s going to be...I mean, *if* I do get married, to *anybody*, to whoever, well...he won’t be your father. I mean, your father will still be your father. We’ll just have a bigger family. More people to help take care of us, and who we care about.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] A bare moment passed, and Nikki said, “Well, *duh*, Mom.” “Yeah,” said Joey, “*duh*.” But he said it quieter. “This isn’t an After School Special,” said Nikki. “We’re not dumb. Whatever.” “Uh,” said Sharon, ignoring Sophia’s gleeful grin. “You wanna hook up with some guys, nothing serious, whatever,” Nikki went on. “I get it. This isn’t the olden days, like the Fifties or whatever. Nobody cares. Knock yourself out.” “Nikki!” “I’m just *saying*,” Nikki said with Valley Girl tones, “we all do it—” she caught herself and transitioned so smoothly, David Copperfield might have missed the trick “—women are allowed to do whatever they want, now. It’s not slutty. It’s just modern. You’re allowed to have fun!” “Can I be done?” said Joey, toying with his stew and not looking up.
December 6, 2025 at 3:58 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
If you ever saw either of the action shorts I did, you'd be fooled: I'm ambidextrous, lefty just works better sometimes to choreograph or frame the shot. 😉
chrissteller.bsky.social Chris Steller @chrissteller.bsky.social · 3d
If I am watching TV with you I will always point out when someone is left-handed
December 5, 2025 at 5:13 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "screen"

In Chapter 7 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime," Detective Charlie Gelman takes a call from the medical examiner and gives his trusty hat a chance to catch up on their murder case.

#ConfessionsFromTheSceneOfTheCrime🎳💀

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 7 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] Charlie pulled into a questionably legal spot just up the block from Sunset Gardens, and put the Ford in park. “So that means...what?” “That Takach had *liquid* iron splashed on his face and clothes,” replied Helen, “and it probably cooled and solidified almost instantly.” “So how’d that happen?” “Not a clue. You’re the detective, Charlie. But I’ll run it by Ben Hendricks to see if he has any ideas.” “Okay,” said Charlie, unbuckling his seatbelt and patting himself down. “Helen—thanks a million. Lemme know if anything adds up.” “Of course, Charlie. Take care.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 7 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] She hung up, and Charlie tapped his phone’s screen and put it back in his pocket. His hat chimed in dryly: “So Takach is an eyeless mole man who works at a foundry.” Charlie grabbed the dark glasses and got out of the car, shaking his head. “Even if you *did* use the past tense, I don’t think so. If we’re going with Magical Wizard Murders—” “Is that what we’re going with?” asked the hat, a skeptic slant in its Humphrey Bogart voice. “You really *do* need to fill me in, chief.” “Sorry, yeah,” Charlie said, slowing his pace up the sidewalk so he could buy a little time before they reached Sunset Gardens. “Tran and I questioned his stuff. The story we got is...well, wizards. He was one. Lots of others, they say. We figure it’s some internal thing—Takach pisses off the wrong wizard, goes into hiding, they track him down and bump him off.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 7 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] His hat sounded unambiguously dubious. “Wizards?” “I’m not gonna debate the existence of wizards with my *hat*,” he said pointedly. “Fair enough, chief.” There was a distinct pause. “So if that’s your premise...maybe it’s not an isolated incident?” Charlie shrugged and nodded. “More Magical Wizard Murders? Sure. I thought of that already—could be.” He thought about it. “Huh. But maybe this isn’t the *first* one. Maybe I should look at some cold cases. Anything unsolved and...weird.” “Good plan.”
December 5, 2025 at 4:54 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "screen"

In Chapter 4 of "Grand Theft Galaxy," Three checks out their new (stolen) ride as Billy Fish learns just a little bit about the local galactic community around them.

#GrandTheftGalaxy🕳️🌌

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 4 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] Three finally came to a decisive halt after passing through a wide door into a roughly circular room. Consoles and screens lined the walls and hung down from the ceiling on telescoping pistons and cables. There were five distinct stations spaced evenly along the walls, with a sixth dead center. Each had a long, narrow cushioned seat with a high back; every seat faced the back of the room, where Three and Billy had come through the door. “Refitted for them,” Three remarked. “Custom job. Nice work.” He straddled the narrow seat in the center of the room and leaned his chest forward against the back cushion. It dawned on Billy that the seats actually did face front—the “backs” were the “fronts,” which would provide a perfectly comfortable seat for Pizza Head to straddle with his four legs and lean his broad chest forward onto the cushions. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] Three’s words started trickling through Billy’s comprehension skills. “Wait...you mean it’s not their ship?” “It’s theirs,” said Three. “Just not their brand. They own the ship, but they didn’t make it.” As he spoke, he tapped away on several flat pads arrayed around his seat. A round screen lowered in front of him and began to slowly spin as glowing figures and diagrams swarmed across it. If any way was “up” on the screen, Billy couldn’t say. “So they, what...go over to the dealer and buy a new ship?” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] “Yeah, basically,” Three nodded, his eyes scanning the round screen. “Except their department probably does it for them. And probably orders in bulk.” Billy breathed heavily, a smile slowly spreading across his face as he took in the command cabin of the ship. “But that’s...I mean....” He tried again. “You mean there’s a whole entire *civilization* up there? All sorts of aliens? Out there—in outer space?” “It’s not as civilized as you’d think,” Three quipped. “But that’s the gist of it.” “And your planet’s at war or something with...with these guys’ planet?” Three’s shook his head. “I don’t have a planet.”
December 5, 2025 at 4:54 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "screen"

In Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week," Sharon finally gets home after a VERY eventful day to join her kids and her best friend for dinner. And maybe do a little parental scolding.

#StormOfTheCenturyOfTheWeek⛈️

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] Her key in the door was drowned out by the blaring television; not a show, of course, but one of Joey’s video games. Sharon opened the door and called out: “Home!” Nikki and Sophia answered from the kitchen. “Hey, Mom!” “Hi, Shar!” Joey was planted on the carpet in front of the couch, for a change, fingers dancing on a plastic controller as he guided something heroic and powerful through someplace dangerous and in flames. All the games looked alike to Sharon. “Hi, Joey,” she said, stepping just inside the living room. “Homework?” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] He looked at her with a pained expression. “Bean sprouts,” he groused. He didn’t even need to pause the game for the time it took him to look up and complain—his fingers kept dancing and the armored robot beast thing on screen never missed a step. If the rest of his body was as athletic as his fingers, she’d be supported in her old age by an Olympic champion or a football star. Sharon knew there were nine-year-old boys who went outside for longer than it took to get in a car or a school bus; they were a different species from her son. “Auntie Sophia’s just trying to keep you healthy,” she told him. “You can’t have the crap I make *every* night.” “Make?” “Order. Whatever.” He just groused some more, non-verbally, while artfully decapitating some kind of glowing electric wolf demon. Sharon dropped her purse on the side table and went into the kitchen.
December 5, 2025 at 4:53 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "screen"

In Chapter 1 of "The Demon's Pawn," psycho killer Andy Trout heads down to the pawn shop he runs—at the bottom of the building he manages and lives in—to check in with the only other employee.

#TheDemonsPawn🔪🩸

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 1 of "The Demon's Pawn" (by me):] “Just checking in,” said Andy. “Anything in or out?” “Wedding ring,” Josiah said, looking over at the day sheet, “and a weird dog thing statue. Sold the bullshit Les Paul, the Jewish candle thing, and some Colonel Kurtz stuff.” Military outfits came in and out of the pawn shop faster than Kerwin’s website hit counter went up each month. Maybe it was time to quit the pawn business and admit he mostly ran an Army surplus store. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 1 of "The Demon's Pawn" (by me):] Andy lifted the countertop gate and tried his best to take a subtle look at the computer screen. The web browser had at least a dozen tabs open, and the visible one was just a poorly designed blog with orange letters on a pale yellow background. He blinked to clear his eyes of the aesthetic horror and looked down at the newest item behind the counter: as Josiah’d promised, it was a weird dog thing statue. It was porcelain, just over two feet high at the forehead, a little smaller than life-sized, and recreated a sad-eyed but lifelike young Golden Retriever with a single inexplicable antler protruding from the top of its skull. The antler angled forward and up several times in simple forking branches, terminating in several nearly-sharp points. The fact that the whole statue was glazed in a muted gray, with mere hints of the golden fur color, wooden antler color, and dark eyes, transformed the whole affair into a spooky fairy-tale creature trapped in a Precious Moments catalogue. Andy felt sorry for the thing.
December 5, 2025 at 4:53 PM
Reposted by Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
semperbufo.bsky.social
Gearing up for the #Holidays? 🎄🕎

#LovelyAssistant🎩 and #JackrabbitMessiah🐰 will both be 50% off for the Smashwords End of Year Sale 2025—starting December 8️⃣!

Just follow the link below to find both ebooks, 50% off! #EoYSale25 #Smashwords

For more about the books, visit SilhouetteUniverse.com 👤
Geoph Essex's Novels on Smashwords
Buy Geoph Essex's “Silhouette” Novels through Smashwords.
sbufo.com
November 30, 2025 at 2:27 AM
Reposted by Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
semperbufo.bsky.social
I tend not to post pix/video of my son (personal choice), but I got an awesome video tonight of him singing "Yellow"—unprompted—while plucking strings on my wife's guitar, because he came to see us play Sunday (she's lead guitar, I'm vocals) and the kid memorizes EVERYTHING, especially music.

❤️👶🎤🎸🎶
December 5, 2025 at 4:10 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Pretty obvious we need alt text for PFPs and banners; if I were developing this platform that would've been in as soon as alt text in general was in (which would be pretty much immediately).
December 5, 2025 at 3:16 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
See, yeah, was just talking about this a couple weeks back (IRL).

At this point, emotionally, we don't seek "justice" or "fairness" or whatever. That's a pipe dream.

What we want are goddamn CONSEQUENCES. Real ones. Any. At all.

'Cause without them, reality starts to feel kinda pointless.
nameshiv.bsky.social Shiv Ramdas Mens Rice Activist @nameshiv.bsky.social · 2d
this is exactly right- the way to fix this is the way it's always been fixed before in multiple societies- by those who promote unreality for personal benefit facing serious consequences
December 5, 2025 at 3:00 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
"So…you were bitten? By a radioactive spider?"

"…yes. That's how it happened."

"Really?"

"Y-yeah. How else could it—-I mean, yes. Spider. Radioactive. Bit me."

"That sounds implausible."

"No it doesn't."

"Peter, did you have sex with a spi—"

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP NO *YOU* FUCKED A SPIDER!"
December 5, 2025 at 2:44 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
I tend not to post pix/video of my son (personal choice), but I got an awesome video tonight of him singing "Yellow"—unprompted—while plucking strings on my wife's guitar, because he came to see us play Sunday (she's lead guitar, I'm vocals) and the kid memorizes EVERYTHING, especially music.

❤️👶🎤🎸🎶
December 5, 2025 at 4:10 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Y'know, it's truly not that I've "reached an age where none of the new shows give a shit about my demographic."

It's that by the age of goddamn FIVE (maximum!) I had zero interest in shows "youthenizing" their cast to "appeal" to a young me.
rlpastore.bsky.social Richard L Pastore 📚🏳️‍🌈 @rlpastore.bsky.social · 3d
I'm just going to assume this series takes place in the year 90210
A new poster for the show Starfleet Academy depicts 6 20-somethings lying on the grass in a pose reminiscent of many a YA drama shown on the CW network.
December 5, 2025 at 3:46 AM
Reposted by Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
bookjockeyalex.bsky.social
I don't care if a non-disabled person accesses a disability accommodation for the same reason I don't care if a child whose parents are rich gets free lunch at school. We don't need to means test being a kind person. I have better things to do with my time than be a cop over social services.
December 4, 2025 at 2:32 AM
Reposted by Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
semperbufo.bsky.social
Look, there are WAY too many people who claim to be professional writers, then get book deals, and then I see the actual prose they put down on paper and…for fuck's sake.

No, this isn't "envy." This is Galileo under house arrest while the fucking Roman Inquisition decides what "proper" science is.
December 3, 2025 at 10:37 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "city"

The very end of Chapter 1 in "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" really, uh, gets the ball rolling on the crime in question…and the plot of the story itself.

#ConfessionsFromTheSceneOfTheCrime🎳💀

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 1 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] The little old man turned slowly, one hand out defensively, the other tapping his cane on the walk as if he was warning off prospective muggers in Morse code. Then he whirled again, yanking off his dark glasses. His eyes were not blue; they were not green or brown, gold or gray. There was, in fact, no field of white around an iris of any color. His eyes were pure and gleaming mirrors, like two small globs of liquid mercury packed tightly into transparent balloons, quivering slightly as they swiveled in their sockets. Whether these strange orbs were capable of sight or not, the old man continued to pivot slowly in place, still tapping his cane. “I should warn you,” he proclaimed to the empty air, “I am not defenseless.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 1 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] There was a strange, sharp sound, like the inhalation of breath just before a tennis player serves the ball, a sound that signaled anticipation and the delayed promise of action. The round little man cocked his head again, picking up on a gradually building whistle of wind and air. He looked—or at least faced—straight up. With a terrible thud, an awful crunch, and no wind resistance, a gleaming, lacquered bowling ball dropped from above and smashed the old man’s head like a meteorite finding an ideal parking spot. He collapsed on the sidewalk, his face an unrecognizable mess of bone, flesh and gore that would have once again stumped Humpty Dumpty’s undeservedly optimistic paramedics. Rivulets of shining silver ran like tears from what used to be the corners of his eyes. The white cane and dark glasses fell from nerveless fingers which ceased twitching after only a second or two. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 1 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] There was a moment of silence, as if the city itself respectfully withheld comment on the old man’s passing. Then the bowling ball, streetlights playing off the swirling brown and black opalescence beneath its surface, swiveled in the shallow, cracked dent it had made in the sidewalk beside the old man’s crooked arm. It made a grinding sound as its lower curve scraped the sidewalk, the sound of an ancient sepulchre being dragged painfully shut on dusty old secrets. Slowly at first, but building momentum as it went, the bowling ball rolled away from the dead little man. The ball headed west. It didn’t even have the decency to roll downhill.
December 4, 2025 at 4:25 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "city"

In Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance," a video freeze-frame gives Lu Volasko a new lead *and* a chance to witness the ludicrous processing power of physics wunderkind Judah Berenbaum's brain.

#MyElectromagneticRomance🧲💕

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] Berenbaum stared, nearly as still as the face on pause. “I *know* her.” “What?” Lu asked, incredulously. “What?” Doctor Bean asked, in a decidedly sharper tone. “Well, I don’t *know* her,” Berenbaum amended. “But I *met* her. I *talked* to her!” Lu stared at him, then at the face on the display, then back at Berenbaum again. “When?” “It was...uh...yeah, a few months ago.” He rubbed his forehead slowly but vigorously, as if squeezing the memories out of a ripe pimple. “Just before Thanksgiving. I gave a lecture to a crowd of double *E*s at Empire Tech, in the city. She asked a couple questions during the lecture.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “Double *E*s?” Lu questioned. Bean elaborated: “Electrical engineers. Well—at Empire Tech, *student* electrical engineers.” “I did some courses there when I was a teenager,” said Berenbaum. Lu raised an eyebrow. “*You* took community college courses,” she said flatly. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “No,” he replied. “I *taught* them. Particle physics is my field—electronics is my hobby. I was doing a favor for a friend.” He waved it off, getting them back on point. “And he asked me there last Thanksgiving, just before break, to give a little talk on alternative power, the future of electronic design...all that stuff. Watered down, really. I didn’t want to go, but I owed Frank.” “You remember *one* student, out of the *whole* lecture hall, at a talk you didn’t even want to give...*five months ago*?” “I remember all of them,” Berenbaum replied blankly, as if she’d asked him how he managed the task of getting his shoes on the correct feet every morning. “He does,” Doctor Bean told Lu. She smiled lightly and shrugged. “It’s just one of his *things*.”
December 4, 2025 at 4:25 PM