With all my heart, I hate these nights
When each step feels like stone.
My body a prison of clay and lights
And I feel so very alone.
One voice drives me to pace and rage
Another counsels sleep
A third invites me to fill a page
And one more just wishes to weep
Each voice in my mind
Speaks right over the top of me
And I cannot find
My words in the cacophony
My eyes are blind, my ears are deaf,
My hands grow numb and cold
I feel raw, and new, and fresh
I feel dry and old
The chains wrapped tight about my wists
No chill wind through my hair.
I look down at my tremb'ling fists
No shackle nor manacle there
Thusly passes my troubled night
Till the Sun shows in the East
Until She rescues me from this fight,
I struggle against my inner Beast.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Final thoughts on "Unappreciated"
So for the last month, I've been posting parts of a pre-written story every Thursday. I just posted the last installment, about three days late. I just wanted to take some time out and talk bout how i feel it went.
It started as a post on Facebook, in response to... I forget, some petty thing. But it kept wanting to grow, out of control, so I moved it to my blog. It soon expanded into a wall of text I wouldn't want to inflict on you all at once, so i moved it to WordPad, and broke it into the four parts I posted.
I don't really like how It turned out, for several reasons. For one, by the time i posted the last piece, it was completely irrelevant to my emotional state. In addition, because i was posting these, i had little motivation to post something else, more congruent with my feels. Finally, I think it's a little too... boring to post one thing over several weeks, ducking any actual creative effort.
So, all in all, I'm dissatisfied with the way this turned out. I don't think I shall be doing this again. Feel free to leave your thoughts on the matter in the comments, below.
It started as a post on Facebook, in response to... I forget, some petty thing. But it kept wanting to grow, out of control, so I moved it to my blog. It soon expanded into a wall of text I wouldn't want to inflict on you all at once, so i moved it to WordPad, and broke it into the four parts I posted.
I don't really like how It turned out, for several reasons. For one, by the time i posted the last piece, it was completely irrelevant to my emotional state. In addition, because i was posting these, i had little motivation to post something else, more congruent with my feels. Finally, I think it's a little too... boring to post one thing over several weeks, ducking any actual creative effort.
So, all in all, I'm dissatisfied with the way this turned out. I don't think I shall be doing this again. Feel free to leave your thoughts on the matter in the comments, below.
Invisible [reprise] (4/4)
As of right now, I still live with my parents. This is a source of great stress to me. I'm constantly under pressure to "just get a job and move out". As if it was that easy. More than that, I'm surrounded, almost constantly, by the people who see me, not as I am, but as I was. not as the man of today, but as the boy of yesterday. They don't see how I've changed, don't acknowledge any kind of improvement.
I'm just not appreciated. When I create complex conjecture that I can barely grasp, myself, someone says "oh yeah, I think about that kinda stuff all the time". When I post something funny and clever, someone feels the need to interject their own, bland, contrary commentary. When I create something artistic providing insight into my state of mind, someone will vaguely imitate it, while also diluting my message. When I talk about something I accomplished, I'm beset on all sides by "oh, I've done that twice, and faster, and better". Everyone's too busy being talking themselves up to notice what I'm doing, and when I do get props, it feels condescending and forced.
When I mess up, I get berated, or teased, or lectured. When I succeed, and do good things, I get ignored, or worse, nit-picked and corrected. When I do something to help- cleaning, cooking, doing chores- my work is taken for granted. When I don't? I get forced into doing it, and then shouted at until I do. what thanks I do get are few, far between and not very satisfying at all. It gets tiring, and thankless.
On top of all that, sometimes, I still feel invisible. Those are still the good times.
I'm just not appreciated. When I create complex conjecture that I can barely grasp, myself, someone says "oh yeah, I think about that kinda stuff all the time". When I post something funny and clever, someone feels the need to interject their own, bland, contrary commentary. When I create something artistic providing insight into my state of mind, someone will vaguely imitate it, while also diluting my message. When I talk about something I accomplished, I'm beset on all sides by "oh, I've done that twice, and faster, and better". Everyone's too busy being talking themselves up to notice what I'm doing, and when I do get props, it feels condescending and forced.
When I mess up, I get berated, or teased, or lectured. When I succeed, and do good things, I get ignored, or worse, nit-picked and corrected. When I do something to help- cleaning, cooking, doing chores- my work is taken for granted. When I don't? I get forced into doing it, and then shouted at until I do. what thanks I do get are few, far between and not very satisfying at all. It gets tiring, and thankless.
On top of all that, sometimes, I still feel invisible. Those are still the good times.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Friends (3/4)
After returning to my home, I felt whole. I was once more in the weird, mysterious North West. At first, i lived on the coast, and healed. The sound of the waves, and the smell of the salt wiped the hurt from my mind like the tide wipes a drawing from the sand. I even worked out, briefly, although i lacked the necessary motivation. Although i made friends, I formed no attachments. I knew i would be moving on soon.
In a month, i was in Portland, the city of roses, hipsters, and weed. I lived in a suburb of P-town, called Milwaukie. There I found new friends and more lasting relationships. One in particular still haunts me. My first real love. You can read about that elsewhere on this blog, i don't want to bring myself any lower than i already am. This was also where i started falling in love with my home. I lived in Milwaukie for about two years, madly in love (with the girl, not the city). This was where i grew to adolescence. Aside from these pastimes, i was mainly occupied by wasting life in a tiny windowless box, pretending to learn. I spent the rest of my time fighting with and alongside my friends. It was better than before, but still not good. And eventually, it ended.
I moved away. Not very far, only across the city, but it was enough. Oh, i stayed in touch with a few special people. But little by little, i drifted away from them. i held onto Her the longest, but in the end, we fell apart, and she left me. But this was where i came into my own.
Once more, i met new friends. This time, I met some people that were going to go on to become some of the closest, most important people in my life. These people helped me find myself. We were all lost and confused, in our own ways, but we found each other similar enough, and we grew together through all the twists and turns that life threw at us. Some of us grew apart, others came in from outside and the end result was that, at the end of senior year, we found that had formed a tightly knit group. Something like a family, something we all sorely lacked. But what we had was more than family. Family bonds are forged of blood, by necessity. We were held together by bonds forged of shared experience, by our own choice. And more than forming these bonds, we had grown into adults.
Thank you, my friends. you helped get me through the rest of the world.
In a month, i was in Portland, the city of roses, hipsters, and weed. I lived in a suburb of P-town, called Milwaukie. There I found new friends and more lasting relationships. One in particular still haunts me. My first real love. You can read about that elsewhere on this blog, i don't want to bring myself any lower than i already am. This was also where i started falling in love with my home. I lived in Milwaukie for about two years, madly in love (with the girl, not the city). This was where i grew to adolescence. Aside from these pastimes, i was mainly occupied by wasting life in a tiny windowless box, pretending to learn. I spent the rest of my time fighting with and alongside my friends. It was better than before, but still not good. And eventually, it ended.
I moved away. Not very far, only across the city, but it was enough. Oh, i stayed in touch with a few special people. But little by little, i drifted away from them. i held onto Her the longest, but in the end, we fell apart, and she left me. But this was where i came into my own.
Once more, i met new friends. This time, I met some people that were going to go on to become some of the closest, most important people in my life. These people helped me find myself. We were all lost and confused, in our own ways, but we found each other similar enough, and we grew together through all the twists and turns that life threw at us. Some of us grew apart, others came in from outside and the end result was that, at the end of senior year, we found that had formed a tightly knit group. Something like a family, something we all sorely lacked. But what we had was more than family. Family bonds are forged of blood, by necessity. We were held together by bonds forged of shared experience, by our own choice. And more than forming these bonds, we had grown into adults.
Thank you, my friends. you helped get me through the rest of the world.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Cheating Death (2/4)
I almost died in that godforsaken frozen-assed wasteland of a town. Not through any fault of my own, mind. I was too fearful to actually end myself, but nevertheless, I'm lucky to have made it out alive.
I had missed my bus to school, which (this year) was two and a half miles away. I had make that walk, in days before, i would go on to make it, in days to come. But this day was different. For the past few days, A blizzard had been raging outside our homes, keeping us indoors. On this day, Winter's rage had boiled over, into a deathly still fury. It was cold enough to freeze light, outside in the white expanse.
I don't remember much of that walk, save the hoarfrost on my scarf, a blinding whiteness in my eyes, and a madness in my mind. I kept myself walking with chanting, and one calls back to me, through the years: "Life's a bitch, and then you die." I was sure that it was my time to die, so soon after my true birth. I saw Death, that day. She was beckoning me down the road to my school, all dressed up in a robe of white feathers. I chose, instead, to go into a supermarket, and ask to use a phone. That was the first time i cheated Death.
I lived there through the end of that winter, then the spring following, the summer after that. Finally, at the end of a long fall, on the night the first snow fell, I left, vowing never to return. Death watched me go, from the depot where i caught my train. She was wearing a grey dress, her dark makeup running. I know that had i stayed, She would have me now. That was the second time I cheated death. After that, She waited a long time.
I had missed my bus to school, which (this year) was two and a half miles away. I had make that walk, in days before, i would go on to make it, in days to come. But this day was different. For the past few days, A blizzard had been raging outside our homes, keeping us indoors. On this day, Winter's rage had boiled over, into a deathly still fury. It was cold enough to freeze light, outside in the white expanse.
I don't remember much of that walk, save the hoarfrost on my scarf, a blinding whiteness in my eyes, and a madness in my mind. I kept myself walking with chanting, and one calls back to me, through the years: "Life's a bitch, and then you die." I was sure that it was my time to die, so soon after my true birth. I saw Death, that day. She was beckoning me down the road to my school, all dressed up in a robe of white feathers. I chose, instead, to go into a supermarket, and ask to use a phone. That was the first time i cheated Death.
I lived there through the end of that winter, then the spring following, the summer after that. Finally, at the end of a long fall, on the night the first snow fell, I left, vowing never to return. Death watched me go, from the depot where i caught my train. She was wearing a grey dress, her dark makeup running. I know that had i stayed, She would have me now. That was the second time I cheated death. After that, She waited a long time.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Invisible (1/4)
Sometimes, i feel invisible. Until recently, those were the best times. When I wasn't invisible, I was used. Not used? Hated. Is it any wonder, then? That i grew shy, uncomfortable, awkward? Is it any wonder that I grew to hate myself? I don't even know why. I guess i was just... too different, too extraordinary. That's not arrogance. That would have to complimentary for it to be arrogance
I'm not sure which i started hating first, myself, or the world. Maybe it's one of those chicken and egg questions. Maybe it started all at once, and I just reached critical mass in that dusty, cramped room in North Dakota, in the dead of winter. Childbirth is never easy, and this time was no exception. Only, I was denied the benefit of a midwife to catch me, or a mother to hold me. I grew through childhood, there in that tiny apartment that i shared with two other children, and two cats. Anger, boredom, and loneliness were all i knew. I learned about the world in a grim edifice almost a mile from my home. They called it school. I called it torture. I was forced into a room, forced to cooperate, with people who would much rather watch me burn at the stake.
I had only two friends, well, one and a half. Both outcasts, like me, but for radically different reasons. There was the Mature One, who didn't connect with any of our "peers", mainly because he already knew the basics of human decency. However, he desperately WANTED to fit in, so he was fairly easily pressured into things. And then there was the Wild One, who had a demon inside him. Half of the time he was fun, extroverted, funny, an all around nice guy, if a bit over-the-top. the other half of the time, he was angry, mean, even dowright malicious. these were my only two friends in a sea of fearful "norm"-ies.
The only thing i remember one saying about me was "his eyes scare me" in a hushed voice. I shouldn't have been able to hear her, but I did. I looked over at her, saw her gossiping with her friends, glancing furtively toward me. she noticed my gaze, paled, silenced herself, and turned back to her task.
I thought about ending it that night. A knife, poison; maybe i would just go lie in the snow, and be swept to a better place, on white wings. Sometimes i still want to be.
I'm not sure which i started hating first, myself, or the world. Maybe it's one of those chicken and egg questions. Maybe it started all at once, and I just reached critical mass in that dusty, cramped room in North Dakota, in the dead of winter. Childbirth is never easy, and this time was no exception. Only, I was denied the benefit of a midwife to catch me, or a mother to hold me. I grew through childhood, there in that tiny apartment that i shared with two other children, and two cats. Anger, boredom, and loneliness were all i knew. I learned about the world in a grim edifice almost a mile from my home. They called it school. I called it torture. I was forced into a room, forced to cooperate, with people who would much rather watch me burn at the stake.
I had only two friends, well, one and a half. Both outcasts, like me, but for radically different reasons. There was the Mature One, who didn't connect with any of our "peers", mainly because he already knew the basics of human decency. However, he desperately WANTED to fit in, so he was fairly easily pressured into things. And then there was the Wild One, who had a demon inside him. Half of the time he was fun, extroverted, funny, an all around nice guy, if a bit over-the-top. the other half of the time, he was angry, mean, even dowright malicious. these were my only two friends in a sea of fearful "norm"-ies.
The only thing i remember one saying about me was "his eyes scare me" in a hushed voice. I shouldn't have been able to hear her, but I did. I looked over at her, saw her gossiping with her friends, glancing furtively toward me. she noticed my gaze, paled, silenced herself, and turned back to her task.
I thought about ending it that night. A knife, poison; maybe i would just go lie in the snow, and be swept to a better place, on white wings. Sometimes i still want to be.
Monday, November 19, 2012
The Postmodern Era
Primalism and postmodernism are one and the same. It's you and the world, gettin' all cozy with one another. No gods, no conventions, no "regulations" to get in the way. We've come full circle, and everything once more rests on you. It's different now, of course (Time is a spiral, after all -- more on that later, probably). Instead of shaping the world with our hands, we shape it with our minds, our creativity. We have new faces on our monsters, new names of power, and new rituals. But ours is once more a world that we make, that a single person, however unknown or humble, can change, if they are clever, cunning, and determined.
go out and do something. I know i will.
go out and do something. I know i will.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Freedom of Choice
Freedom, for all that it is a universal right, is not given. It is earned. It must be fought for, tooth and claw, payed for in blood and sweat and tears. You must suffer a thousand years for the barest inch of your freedom. That is why, when someone wants to take away the little agency I have with my life, I get a little testy.
All I want is a little editorial control over my life. It's a small thing, and petty, but right now, it's part of the very little I have. My life at present IS small and petty. Furthermore, I understand that you want to be part of my life, but you have to understand that forcing your way into my business is not going to make me accept you. Occasionally, yes, i will spend some time with you, but I don't even spend time with my best friends more than once or twice a week, if that.
In summary, it's my life, and i can do with it what I bloody well please.
All I want is a little editorial control over my life. It's a small thing, and petty, but right now, it's part of the very little I have. My life at present IS small and petty. Furthermore, I understand that you want to be part of my life, but you have to understand that forcing your way into my business is not going to make me accept you. Occasionally, yes, i will spend some time with you, but I don't even spend time with my best friends more than once or twice a week, if that.
In summary, it's my life, and i can do with it what I bloody well please.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Blind Spots
My more skeptical readers will scoff at this post. Hell, I would too, were I not the one typing it. All i can say, is I swear, on the True Name of Deity, that everything here is straight truth. (whoo boy, this is gonna piss people i care about off)
See, i have a... gift, y'might say. maybe ESP, maybe a grace from God, maybe just dumb luck and genetics. Whatever it may be, I can... read people. Their emotions, their motivations, their personalities, even their physical sensations. However, there are some people I can't read. Blind Spots, if you will (hence the title). To date i can count three I've met, since i discovered this little trick of mine: my stepdad, an ex-lover, and a girl of my acquaintance, who seems to want to be a little more than a distant friend from my past.
Now, I have fond memories of this girl, though they be few and distant, and I wouldn't be averse to maybe adding to them. But, thanks to little miss ex-lover up there, I'm a little averse to dating another Blind Spot. Now, on the obverse I can't be interested in someone I can see through. Would you be able to fall in love with someone you can play like a fiddle? Maybe lust, maybe I'd fool around with them a little, but sooner or later, I'd get bored. And on top of that, I'm a shallow bastard, when it comes to it. All that adds up to me having some pretty high standards. which tends to equal me stressing over relationships WAY more than i should, especially when it comes nighttime, and i'm all alone.
The worst part is, she's more like a pseudo-Blind Spot. I didn't know about my talent when i spoke to her last for any meaningful length, so i have yet to get any kind of a read on her. if she would just talk to me, through any medium, really, i would be able to find out whether i just wrote a bit more than 300 words for nothing. it's madness, i tell you. And y'know, even if she does turn out to be a Blind Spot, I'd be fine with being this girl's toy. I just wanna be her only one, is all.
Ah, well. good night friends (if my friends ye be, after that little display), and I look forward to our next correspondence.
See, i have a... gift, y'might say. maybe ESP, maybe a grace from God, maybe just dumb luck and genetics. Whatever it may be, I can... read people. Their emotions, their motivations, their personalities, even their physical sensations. However, there are some people I can't read. Blind Spots, if you will (hence the title). To date i can count three I've met, since i discovered this little trick of mine: my stepdad, an ex-lover, and a girl of my acquaintance, who seems to want to be a little more than a distant friend from my past.
Now, I have fond memories of this girl, though they be few and distant, and I wouldn't be averse to maybe adding to them. But, thanks to little miss ex-lover up there, I'm a little averse to dating another Blind Spot. Now, on the obverse I can't be interested in someone I can see through. Would you be able to fall in love with someone you can play like a fiddle? Maybe lust, maybe I'd fool around with them a little, but sooner or later, I'd get bored. And on top of that, I'm a shallow bastard, when it comes to it. All that adds up to me having some pretty high standards. which tends to equal me stressing over relationships WAY more than i should, especially when it comes nighttime, and i'm all alone.
The worst part is, she's more like a pseudo-Blind Spot. I didn't know about my talent when i spoke to her last for any meaningful length, so i have yet to get any kind of a read on her. if she would just talk to me, through any medium, really, i would be able to find out whether i just wrote a bit more than 300 words for nothing. it's madness, i tell you. And y'know, even if she does turn out to be a Blind Spot, I'd be fine with being this girl's toy. I just wanna be her only one, is all.
Ah, well. good night friends (if my friends ye be, after that little display), and I look forward to our next correspondence.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Real Life Update
hey guys, just thought I'd give you all my first non-art, non-philosophy update in a month. Or i would, if anything interesting was going on in my life, which it isn't...
Actually, that's not quite true. I've been going to Job Readiness Training at PAVE, through New Avenues For Youth. Now that I've told you what I've been doing, let me decipher it for you: NAFY is a homeless outreach service in Portland, one of several in the area. NAFY operates a program called PAVE, Promoting Avenues to Employment. PAVE helps disadvantaged youth look for and keep work. One of the ways they do this is JRT, a four-week course that teaches youth how to write a resume, fill out job applications, talk to interviewers, and more. I've been in it for a week, now, and it's already been an great learning experience. I've learned a lot, so i'm looking forward to taking this weekend to digest some of it.
Also, during one of those Post-Clubbing Rambles with my friends, I came up with a long-term goal. I decided i'm going to become a counselor. It really fits all my criteria: It won't be easy, check; I want to make use of my empathic talent, check; I want to help people, check check triple check. It's a job I feel I can be content doing. On the other hand, it won't just happen tomorrow, so i fugured out a short-term plan, as well: become a bouncer or security guard to put myself through college.
So there's that, but beyond that, not much else is going on. Still lonely, in the dating sense. Still stuck at home, after getting back from my trip. Still pointedly ignoring my tattered shambles of a faith, unlearning everything I fooled myself into believing.
Yeah, I think that's it. See you guys next time.
Actually, that's not quite true. I've been going to Job Readiness Training at PAVE, through New Avenues For Youth. Now that I've told you what I've been doing, let me decipher it for you: NAFY is a homeless outreach service in Portland, one of several in the area. NAFY operates a program called PAVE, Promoting Avenues to Employment. PAVE helps disadvantaged youth look for and keep work. One of the ways they do this is JRT, a four-week course that teaches youth how to write a resume, fill out job applications, talk to interviewers, and more. I've been in it for a week, now, and it's already been an great learning experience. I've learned a lot, so i'm looking forward to taking this weekend to digest some of it.
Also, during one of those Post-Clubbing Rambles with my friends, I came up with a long-term goal. I decided i'm going to become a counselor. It really fits all my criteria: It won't be easy, check; I want to make use of my empathic talent, check; I want to help people, check check triple check. It's a job I feel I can be content doing. On the other hand, it won't just happen tomorrow, so i fugured out a short-term plan, as well: become a bouncer or security guard to put myself through college.
So there's that, but beyond that, not much else is going on. Still lonely, in the dating sense. Still stuck at home, after getting back from my trip. Still pointedly ignoring my tattered shambles of a faith, unlearning everything I fooled myself into believing.
Yeah, I think that's it. See you guys next time.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Spectral and Poltergeist
When Jessamine Lord, married David King, shockwaves were sent throughout the metahuman community. David was the son of the sensational Dr Lux, (aka Lucas King) and the taciturn Legion (aka Leslie King). Everyone, from the fans of the heroes to their nemeses, expected David to follow in his parents footsteps, perhaps even join the, once he manifested. But his parents wanted to spare him that life, and their enemies were afraid of what might happen, were he to manifest, and he enjoyed a certain amount of popularity among his peers, due to his parents. All this came together to give him a very sheltered, normal existence. So when he grew up, he married his highschool sweetheart, Jessamine Lord. She was an orphan, and the unknown and unwitting daughter of the nefarious Death and Famine, two members of the infamous team of supervillains known as the Horsemen, four of David's parents greatest adversaries.
They had careers, bought a house in the country. Did everything a normal couple does. Including raising children. Jessamine gave birth to identical twins, a pair of boys she named Castor and Pollux. They grew normally, went to school, made friends, and were closer than any two separate beings had any right to be. Pollux had nightmares, dreams in which he saw the dead, and dying. Castor was quiet, withdrawn, always in his brother's shadow. But despite there strangenesses, their lives were normal. Until one day, after coming home from their first day of junior high, they found a stranger in their quiet suburban home.
He was Armory, War's protégé. War and Death had had a falling out, and War had trained Armory to hunt down Death's child and kill her. He found her house and when her children came home, he tried to kill them. He manifested his massive, razor-edged sword, and cut Castor in two. The shock of losing his brother drove Pollux into a rage, and he attacked his brother's killer. As he did, all the objects in his house started swirling around him, like they were caught up in a tornado, and, in the confusion of his manifestation, he killed Armory.
Jessamine King came home to find her house in shambles, Pollux clutching his brother's torso, fast asleep, tears on his face, and Armory's body nearby. On waking her son up, he told her about the dream he'd been having. All he could remember was he had been standing next to his brother in a very dark place, with voices whispering all around them.
After that, nothing was the same. Pollux grew sickly. He ate enough for two people, but it never seemed to be enough. No doctor could find the cause, and even Metahuman assistance, provided through David's parents, was useless. In grief over their loss, and their son's condition, David turned to drink. He and Jessamine began to fight, to grow apart. They divorced, and it was ruled Pollux would stay with David's parents, both for protection, and to train his emerging abilities.
He had a strong telekinetic ability, which he quickly mastered, and a strange clairvoyant ability. It was as though he had voices whispering in his ear, telling him things he had no way of knowing. He finished high school at age sixteen. However, he had never healed from his brother's death. He would go to cemeteries, morgues, haunted houses, sometimes even spending the night there. He took to insisting his brother was alive, that he had been all along. One day, he came down to breakfast with a strange boy in tow. He claimed he was Castor, and explained what had happened.
When Armory invaded their home, Castor lost his body, appearing to die. However, the pain of his "death" caused him to manifest a strong telekinetic and psychic ability. His mind was unseated from his body, and took up refuge in his brother's. He appeared to his brother, in dreams at first, and his powers grew stronger until, after years, he could talk to Pollux in waking life, and finally manifest in a psychokinetic form.
They finished training together and vowed to fight crime, the sort of crimes that separate loved ones. Pollux took the name Poltergeist, and Castor took the name Spectral, and together they joined a growing alliance of superheroes: The Infinite Coalition.
They had careers, bought a house in the country. Did everything a normal couple does. Including raising children. Jessamine gave birth to identical twins, a pair of boys she named Castor and Pollux. They grew normally, went to school, made friends, and were closer than any two separate beings had any right to be. Pollux had nightmares, dreams in which he saw the dead, and dying. Castor was quiet, withdrawn, always in his brother's shadow. But despite there strangenesses, their lives were normal. Until one day, after coming home from their first day of junior high, they found a stranger in their quiet suburban home.
He was Armory, War's protégé. War and Death had had a falling out, and War had trained Armory to hunt down Death's child and kill her. He found her house and when her children came home, he tried to kill them. He manifested his massive, razor-edged sword, and cut Castor in two. The shock of losing his brother drove Pollux into a rage, and he attacked his brother's killer. As he did, all the objects in his house started swirling around him, like they were caught up in a tornado, and, in the confusion of his manifestation, he killed Armory.
Jessamine King came home to find her house in shambles, Pollux clutching his brother's torso, fast asleep, tears on his face, and Armory's body nearby. On waking her son up, he told her about the dream he'd been having. All he could remember was he had been standing next to his brother in a very dark place, with voices whispering all around them.
After that, nothing was the same. Pollux grew sickly. He ate enough for two people, but it never seemed to be enough. No doctor could find the cause, and even Metahuman assistance, provided through David's parents, was useless. In grief over their loss, and their son's condition, David turned to drink. He and Jessamine began to fight, to grow apart. They divorced, and it was ruled Pollux would stay with David's parents, both for protection, and to train his emerging abilities.
He had a strong telekinetic ability, which he quickly mastered, and a strange clairvoyant ability. It was as though he had voices whispering in his ear, telling him things he had no way of knowing. He finished high school at age sixteen. However, he had never healed from his brother's death. He would go to cemeteries, morgues, haunted houses, sometimes even spending the night there. He took to insisting his brother was alive, that he had been all along. One day, he came down to breakfast with a strange boy in tow. He claimed he was Castor, and explained what had happened.
When Armory invaded their home, Castor lost his body, appearing to die. However, the pain of his "death" caused him to manifest a strong telekinetic and psychic ability. His mind was unseated from his body, and took up refuge in his brother's. He appeared to his brother, in dreams at first, and his powers grew stronger until, after years, he could talk to Pollux in waking life, and finally manifest in a psychokinetic form.
They finished training together and vowed to fight crime, the sort of crimes that separate loved ones. Pollux took the name Poltergeist, and Castor took the name Spectral, and together they joined a growing alliance of superheroes: The Infinite Coalition.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
By Myself, No One Else
Pacing the space from my door to my bed,
Rambling thoughts all around in my head,
"If I were to die, who'd care I was dead?"
Pacing the space from my door to my bed
Sitting alone in the dark, in my room,
Stare at my phone by the light of the moon
Wishing that someone would rescue me soon
Sitting alone in the dark, in my room
Trying to block all the thoughts and the fears,
All of the times that I'd waste all my tears,
All the embarrassments, over the years,
Trying to block all the thoughts and the fears
Walk by myself down a dark empty street,
The ache in my ankles, the pain in my feet,
Need to blow off some steam, take a pointless retreat
So I walk by myself down a dark empty street
Wishing for love when I'm all by myself,
Wishing for money, wishing for wealth,
Wishing for happiness, wisdom and health,
But I open my eyes and I'm still no one else
Rambling thoughts all around in my head,
"If I were to die, who'd care I was dead?"
Pacing the space from my door to my bed
Sitting alone in the dark, in my room,
Stare at my phone by the light of the moon
Wishing that someone would rescue me soon
Sitting alone in the dark, in my room
Trying to block all the thoughts and the fears,
All of the times that I'd waste all my tears,
All the embarrassments, over the years,
Trying to block all the thoughts and the fears
Walk by myself down a dark empty street,
The ache in my ankles, the pain in my feet,
Need to blow off some steam, take a pointless retreat
So I walk by myself down a dark empty street
Wishing for love when I'm all by myself,
Wishing for money, wishing for wealth,
Wishing for happiness, wisdom and health,
But I open my eyes and I'm still no one else
Friday, October 5, 2012
Revelations
I feel like i'm 15 again: just waking up and pissed off at the world. Confused, unsure, and alone. Earlier today, I had a conversation that ripped away all my illusions about the world, and i felt the Truth with more clarity than I've had for a long time; I've spent the intervening years building up a comforting nest of lies. I've been trying to shield myself from the fact that I don't have any answers and I'm not getting any, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for being fat, ugly, slow (mentally and physically), selfish, bigoted, lonely, unwanted, the list goes on. And no matter how much any of these things have changed, part of me has never healed. I never gave it a chance; I didn't know how. I turned to escapism, books, videogames, the Internet. When that wasn't enough, I turned to sex, then partying, then drugs and booze. I lost sight of my face of Deity, and thought myself wise. I thought I had grown, become mature, become powerful, but in reality I became weak, a fool. Tonight, Deity spoke to me again, through the words of a drunken stranger. And I heard this: I don't need to travel, to run away. I need to turn, to stand my ground. To face it head on and say "This is who I am, This is who I'll be." I've always wanted a fight? To struggle against impossible odds? Well, I've got the fight of ny life in front of me, the fight FOR my life, and the odds are looking pretty steep. I'm going to do this on my own, but not alone. I know i'll have friends and family with me. To my beloved sisters, especially, whatever else you decide, please, stay with me. I know we can change, we can grow, we can face this, if we stick together. Maybe, we can even help, not just ourselves, but also those around us. Look, I know what he said, but I know one other thing as well: together we stand, divided we fall
It's time to stand.
It's time to stand.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Freedom vs Population Pseudo-rant
so, i was pondering freedom, as i am wont to do, and in my pondering i came across a question. Namely, How does freedom of expression change as population changes? Sexual and gender expression, specifically, but i suppose the question could apply to religious, artistic, etc. but assume I mean freedom of sexual and gender expression from here on. I came up with two hypotheses to answer this question
the first hypothesis i came up with was: freedom of expression grows inversely to population, until population reaches a certain point. At this point, freedom of expression sharply increases.
the reasons i have for forming this hypothesis is that in very small populations it's easier to convince the majority to accept "non-standard" forms of expression, or failing that, to leave. but as population increases, societal pressures increase, causing "non-standard" types of expression to become less and less accepted, until the population grows enough to support the formation of subcultures, at which point acceptance sharply increases, for various reasons.
However as i continued thinking, i realized this didn't take into account survival pressures, and the strength of human pack mentality. So, taking these into account i formed a new hypothesis: That freedom of expression grows slowly until population reaches a certain point, the sharply increases thereafter, possibly in an exponential growth pattern of some kind.
As i continued to ponder the question I came to the conclusion that this was a complex, multidimensional question, with many interlocking variables. I fully expect both of these hypotheses to be dead wrong. However i can't think of a way I might prove or disprove these hypotheses, therefore hypothesis they stay until i can. Perhaps statistical analysis?
Regardless, i just wanted to get this out of my head, and share it with someone and posting this here allowed me to kill two birds with one stone.
the first hypothesis i came up with was: freedom of expression grows inversely to population, until population reaches a certain point. At this point, freedom of expression sharply increases.
the reasons i have for forming this hypothesis is that in very small populations it's easier to convince the majority to accept "non-standard" forms of expression, or failing that, to leave. but as population increases, societal pressures increase, causing "non-standard" types of expression to become less and less accepted, until the population grows enough to support the formation of subcultures, at which point acceptance sharply increases, for various reasons.
However as i continued thinking, i realized this didn't take into account survival pressures, and the strength of human pack mentality. So, taking these into account i formed a new hypothesis: That freedom of expression grows slowly until population reaches a certain point, the sharply increases thereafter, possibly in an exponential growth pattern of some kind.
As i continued to ponder the question I came to the conclusion that this was a complex, multidimensional question, with many interlocking variables. I fully expect both of these hypotheses to be dead wrong. However i can't think of a way I might prove or disprove these hypotheses, therefore hypothesis they stay until i can. Perhaps statistical analysis?
Regardless, i just wanted to get this out of my head, and share it with someone and posting this here allowed me to kill two birds with one stone.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Imagine
Imagine a world, a reflection of our own. Or perhaps ours is a pale, distorted reflection of it. There, things are more... possible, a little less mundane. There, a boy named Wolf wanders across a land filled with mystery and wonder. He stays alive by the strength of his broad shoulders, wide hands, keen mind, and deep wisdom. Rumor has it that he was taken as a child, taken by the fairies to be trained by their Queen, and replaced with a slow-witted Fetch. There are all sorts of stories about him, and his companions. Like the mysterious Loki, who some claim is his brother, though others scoff at this. For, where Wolf is strong and straightforward, Loki is cunning and devious. Yet, the two are fast friends, when they are not passionate rivals. Or his sister, Lilly, who is widely regarded as one of the most beautiful women in the land, and a great artist, and sorceress, too. They've gone on all sorts of adventures together, wandering around their strange home city in search of treasure and entertainment. Like marching with a great army of the downtrodden masses to overthrow the evil Aristocracy. Lilly's words inspired the men and women to great courage, and fortitude. Yet Wolf has a dark side, as well: he is actually the only scion of a fearsome and wicked Demon Lord, who's name is too horrible to write.
But Wolf and his companions are not the only stories in this world. Many great people wander this land, crafting wondrous items, doing great deeds, teaching, building, protecting. But there is great evil in the world: machines that drain the very life of the Earth, sorcerers whose foul words raise armies of vicious beasts wearing men's flesh, demons filled with fire that kill thousands at a time. Even on a personal level, there are dangers. Merchants who sell consuming dreams to the unwary, machines that will enslave a man and drain his will, voices that whisper visions of blood to tortured children. This is a world more real than our own. A person can become anything they like there, if only they have the will to do it.
Maybe I'll write more about this world, in time. Until then,
Keep Imagining.
But Wolf and his companions are not the only stories in this world. Many great people wander this land, crafting wondrous items, doing great deeds, teaching, building, protecting. But there is great evil in the world: machines that drain the very life of the Earth, sorcerers whose foul words raise armies of vicious beasts wearing men's flesh, demons filled with fire that kill thousands at a time. Even on a personal level, there are dangers. Merchants who sell consuming dreams to the unwary, machines that will enslave a man and drain his will, voices that whisper visions of blood to tortured children. This is a world more real than our own. A person can become anything they like there, if only they have the will to do it.
Maybe I'll write more about this world, in time. Until then,
Keep Imagining.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
The Last Petal (what might have been)
Just gonna transcribe some old poetry. I'm in a low kinda mood, so it's gonna be a low kinda piece.
The Last Petal (what might have been)
I gaze wistfully at the glass, as the last glowing, red spark falls.
The heart of the rose, made of pure light,
Blackens, dims and crumbles to ash, alongside my own
As the toxins of despair and lonliness seep into my soul,
My mind flashes back to the storm she was caught in.
She sought shelter in my arms,
But alas, i couldn't see beyond the glamour of ugliness,
To the entchanting wonder beneath.
I wanted to give her my most beautiful flower in apology,
But she threw it in my face,
Cursed me by it.
She promised, when she left,
That another would come for me,
But no-one came, and i grew bitter.
I could no longer bear to see my face in the mirror, for
I could only see the monster
Who had turned the suffering one from his door.
As my wealth grew to cobwebs around me,
the clock continued to tic-toc,
Reminding me of appointments that no longer seemed to matter.
The candles burned down,
Because in the dark i could forget myself.
The teapot i left on her high shelf,
As the bottle found my hand more and more often.
Still, no-one dared approach
Through th forest, filled with dark looks,
Nor could they scale the high stone walls around my heart
The only one who ever came close enough
To tend my wounds
Was forced to by her father.
He thought he had her best at heart, but he led her to me
I scared her away, hurt her
With the intensity of my anger, my fear
At her braving my darkest secrets.
Now, as the toxins of a life loveless take their toll,
I curse the first, who cursed me to this,
You lied, and none came.
I never found her,
The beauty
To my beast
The Last Petal (what might have been)
I gaze wistfully at the glass, as the last glowing, red spark falls.
The heart of the rose, made of pure light,
Blackens, dims and crumbles to ash, alongside my own
As the toxins of despair and lonliness seep into my soul,
My mind flashes back to the storm she was caught in.
She sought shelter in my arms,
But alas, i couldn't see beyond the glamour of ugliness,
To the entchanting wonder beneath.
I wanted to give her my most beautiful flower in apology,
But she threw it in my face,
Cursed me by it.
She promised, when she left,
That another would come for me,
But no-one came, and i grew bitter.
I could no longer bear to see my face in the mirror, for
I could only see the monster
Who had turned the suffering one from his door.
As my wealth grew to cobwebs around me,
the clock continued to tic-toc,
Reminding me of appointments that no longer seemed to matter.
The candles burned down,
Because in the dark i could forget myself.
The teapot i left on her high shelf,
As the bottle found my hand more and more often.
Still, no-one dared approach
Through th forest, filled with dark looks,
Nor could they scale the high stone walls around my heart
The only one who ever came close enough
To tend my wounds
Was forced to by her father.
He thought he had her best at heart, but he led her to me
I scared her away, hurt her
With the intensity of my anger, my fear
At her braving my darkest secrets.
Now, as the toxins of a life loveless take their toll,
I curse the first, who cursed me to this,
You lied, and none came.
I never found her,
The beauty
To my beast
Monday, July 23, 2012
Eldritch Heartbreak Prose (reprise)
The sky turns to fire. The light invades my eyes, and the darkness is scoured from my mind. the memory of that endless night fades like a bad dream. I'm alive once more. I remember my name, my face. I can know joy, anger, excitement again. the world is once more living and bright. I rise and greet the day, and those within it, and i find myself able to go on living. Life is once more what it should be, and I don't think of her at all.
until that Abyss takes me again
until that Abyss takes me again
Eldritch Heartbreak Prose
Sorry for lack of updates. Although, you're probably just reading this through an archive, in which case, disregard any apologies. Also, how's the future?
Why can't i get her off my mind? well, that's not the problem, i'm fine throughout the day, and most nights. It's just when my walls seem to tighten around my chest and crush the life out of me; when the shadows seem to dance, and the darkness whispers terrible truths into my ears; when i'm the very last person alive, and so very, very cold and alone. That's when she fills my mind.
Memories of a time of warmth and laughter, light and lightness. A time when i was loved, not by friends who love me for my mind, or by family who love me for my blood, but by a partner; one who loves my body and my soul. These memories are so beautiful that they even lift my spirits, for a short time. But, these memories don't stop there, however much i might wish them to.
The love gives way, once more, to possessiveness, jealousy, anger, then finally, i'm heartbroken once again. The sweetness and light of the earlier visions only makes the abyss i'm mired in that much more crushing, bleak, and hopeless. The cycle repeats itself, joy tainted by the knowledge of what's to come giving way to blackest despair, deepened by the memory of what i had, spiraling down and down, until i can no longer breath, my vision swims, and i would gladly leap from this world. i'm swept down to a dark realm, where i've forgotten my name, and lost my face, and there is no-one to comfort me.
i wander, an eternity of darkness, an empty shell, blind in my sorrow.
Why can't i get her off my mind? well, that's not the problem, i'm fine throughout the day, and most nights. It's just when my walls seem to tighten around my chest and crush the life out of me; when the shadows seem to dance, and the darkness whispers terrible truths into my ears; when i'm the very last person alive, and so very, very cold and alone. That's when she fills my mind.
Memories of a time of warmth and laughter, light and lightness. A time when i was loved, not by friends who love me for my mind, or by family who love me for my blood, but by a partner; one who loves my body and my soul. These memories are so beautiful that they even lift my spirits, for a short time. But, these memories don't stop there, however much i might wish them to.
The love gives way, once more, to possessiveness, jealousy, anger, then finally, i'm heartbroken once again. The sweetness and light of the earlier visions only makes the abyss i'm mired in that much more crushing, bleak, and hopeless. The cycle repeats itself, joy tainted by the knowledge of what's to come giving way to blackest despair, deepened by the memory of what i had, spiraling down and down, until i can no longer breath, my vision swims, and i would gladly leap from this world. i'm swept down to a dark realm, where i've forgotten my name, and lost my face, and there is no-one to comfort me.
i wander, an eternity of darkness, an empty shell, blind in my sorrow.
Friday, March 9, 2012
knowing
The hell of knowing, is that i can tell you everything in the world, and yet, you will understand nothing until you must learn in the most painful way. And until you do learn, you will hate me because, in your hubris, you believe you will overcome. and afterwards, you will hate me for not trying harder to teach you. but you will not know that i did my best to teach, but you could not learn. And you will not learn this until several more, painful lessons.
i have been told this, time and again, alongside such gems as "if you listen, it will save you pain" and " i wish i had listened when [somebody] told me this". that is complete and utter bullshit, and i'll tell you why, although you won't learn. Do you remember, how when you were told, they used the same words as you did just then? that's because i cant know the lesson you tried to teach me, just as you will not learn the lesson i'm trying to teach you. Some things, you just can't teach, like a kiss, or color, or snow. you just have to experience some things to know about them. Snow is an excellent example: i couldn't even begin to explain to a reader from, say, Egypt the feeling of wonder and majesty you get from whatching the first flakes fall. in that same vein, a reader from Russia wouldn't be able to quite describe the feeling you get from watching a roof collapse from a veritable boatload, no, an arkload, of snow, which i am given to believe happens in northern Russia.
this meandering and pondering has no real objective, beyond pointing out some things cannot be taught. in any case, i am finished rambling for today, so this is me, signing off...
i have been told this, time and again, alongside such gems as "if you listen, it will save you pain" and " i wish i had listened when [somebody] told me this". that is complete and utter bullshit, and i'll tell you why, although you won't learn. Do you remember, how when you were told, they used the same words as you did just then? that's because i cant know the lesson you tried to teach me, just as you will not learn the lesson i'm trying to teach you. Some things, you just can't teach, like a kiss, or color, or snow. you just have to experience some things to know about them. Snow is an excellent example: i couldn't even begin to explain to a reader from, say, Egypt the feeling of wonder and majesty you get from whatching the first flakes fall. in that same vein, a reader from Russia wouldn't be able to quite describe the feeling you get from watching a roof collapse from a veritable boatload, no, an arkload, of snow, which i am given to believe happens in northern Russia.
this meandering and pondering has no real objective, beyond pointing out some things cannot be taught. in any case, i am finished rambling for today, so this is me, signing off...
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Every Single: dedicated to my girl
As promised at the beginning, here is one of my poetic endeavors. First, However, a word of warning: My poetry is meant for performance, and i feel that a large portion is lost in simply reading it. A mere vocal recording wouldn't do either, as i perform with my entire body. I will consider this while you read my attempts at meaningful expression. Now, without further ado:
Every Single: dedicated to my girl
Every single step shoots up the wires in my legs to the base of my spine
There presides a pounding pain, pulsing with my paces
Every single breath claws its way past the lump in my throat
And my vocal boards, raw from screaming
To the ragged, empty wound where my heart was,
Until I forgot to take it with me when I left.
I have always lived moment by blessed moment.
But now, every single moment without you brings fresh torture.
A shimmering, sparkling, silver switchblade slicing into my soul The hell of living moment to moment is that you aren't
here in this moment. I don't see your face in the crowd. When I'm done on this stage, I won't be going to sit beside you, To sip from our shared coffee: mocha, lots of sugar.
Yet even with all this pain, which you would not guess by my straight, strong posture, I continue walking and breathing.
Why? Because I know if I can keep breathing, and I walk far enough,
Then eventually, this pain can stop.
But if I stop, the pain is eternal.
Now I go to drink my lonely coffee: black, no sugar, no cream.
Every Single: dedicated to my girl
Every single step shoots up the wires in my legs to the base of my spine
There presides a pounding pain, pulsing with my paces
Every single breath claws its way past the lump in my throat
And my vocal boards, raw from screaming
To the ragged, empty wound where my heart was,
Until I forgot to take it with me when I left.
I have always lived moment by blessed moment.
But now, every single moment without you brings fresh torture.
A shimmering, sparkling, silver switchblade slicing into my soul The hell of living moment to moment is that you aren't
here in this moment. I don't see your face in the crowd. When I'm done on this stage, I won't be going to sit beside you, To sip from our shared coffee: mocha, lots of sugar.
Yet even with all this pain, which you would not guess by my straight, strong posture, I continue walking and breathing.
Why? Because I know if I can keep breathing, and I walk far enough,
Then eventually, this pain can stop.
But if I stop, the pain is eternal.
Now I go to drink my lonely coffee: black, no sugar, no cream.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Gender?
"Don't belong! Don't exist!
Don't give a shit! Don't ever judge me!"
Don't give a shit! Don't ever judge me!"
- Surfacing (Slipknot)
As all of you should by now be aware, I am not "normal". Nor have I ever met anyone afflicted by this terrible condition. I am also not "average", because it seems a pointless, cookie-cutter existance to be such. However, I've always thought of myself as part of the Gender Majority, which is to say Cisgendered (for those of you not in the know: this means my mental, social, and physical gender all match). Recent events have called me to question old evidence, and I have come to the startling conclusion (or rather, lack thereof): I have no fucking idea what's going on. This is new to me, at least in this area of my life.
Before, I've always firmly checked the box marked "male" that denotes the equipment I was born with, and my happiness with the selection. But during the celebrations at the turning of the year, I had found found a guy, and we were... Well, I won't bore you with details. Anyway, when I was "reeling him in" so to speak, I was doing so in a very feminine manner. Predatory? Always. Yet, not masculine in this instance. This was a hell of a shock, and I refused to acknowledge it until just recently. But when i did, i looked back at incidents from my past.
When i was a lad of but three, my mother decided to dress myself and my brother up as girls for All Hallows Eve. Several of the houses we went to complimented us, and said were "very pretty little girls." I glowed under the praise. Something about wearing that dress felt so right. I buried those feelings, for fear i would be taunted. Later in life, around my tenth summer, i had another experience wearing women's clothing. Specifically, my grandmother's. You see, everyone was out of the house and i, in a fit of experimentation, decided to try on my grandmother's panties, bra, pantyhose, and a dress. They fit very badly, but aside from that discomfort, it again felt like the most natural thing in the world.
"all of this evidence points toward you being a crossdresser," you might be saying "but why the gender confusion?" Well, loyal reader, i haven't gotten to my most compelling point: i have always been jealous of women. They are so graceful and beautiful. I've always wished i could be like them: tiny, fragile, held safe in someone's strong arms. Or possibly seductive, predatory, and fierce, going after my prey with an intensity and desire that leaves men slackjawed. Instead, i was born a strapping boy, and am becoming a giant of a man. But I'm not sure I want to be. So to that end, I'm going to ask that you refer to me by gender-neutral pronouns (like "they" and "them", or "xe" and "xem"), until I can figure out how I feel. Although, however I feel, I'll always be me, signing off...
EDIT (as of 3-16-2012): I have resolved my gender issues, to some degree. i am a crossdresser. you might also call me bi-gendered. actually, that's a good way to describe it. i think i'll do that from now on...
EDIT (as of 3-16-2012): I have resolved my gender issues, to some degree. i am a crossdresser. you might also call me bi-gendered. actually, that's a good way to describe it. i think i'll do that from now on...
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Things I want...
I'm a little mad today, so i'm gonna unwind by writing a list of things that, if i actually got them, would make my next several years, probably. this list will probably proceed in the order in which i think of them, so fasten your restraining devices, and keep your appendages inside the conveyance.
#1: $50 to $100 (depending)
the reason behind this one is i was invited, by the wonderful Ms. Lovable, to go snowboarding with her this spring. All is in order... except for lift tickets. These cost about $200 all told, but her father is willing to foot half the bill, and my 'rents are willing to foot somewhere between all and none of the remaining, with the smart money being on half or less. So I need 50-100 dollars, in a few weeks from now. which leads nicely into...
#2: A job
"Whaaaat!?!" I hear you asking. "this lazy Jerkoff wants a job!?" Yes, because with a job, one can obtain this magical substance called "money". with this substance one can conjure any number of goods and services. Of course, like any magical material, it comes with some pretty steep prices. not least of which is the fact that you have to work to get it. Unless you're a doctor, lawyer, or banker, that is. Zing!
#3:A Car
Ahhhh, wouldn't it be great? riding down the highway, wind blowing in through the open windows, cute girl dressed in something sexy in the seat next to me, blasting whatever damn music we want at pain-inducing volume. This is just one of the many, many reasons I want a vehicle of my own. A car would be a magnificent first step towards freedom. And I would have a place to sleep other than this humble abode. much like...
#4: A house/apartment/whatever
I would really like this one for reasons similar to those outlined above. also my girl could come live with me.
That's really all i can think of right now. It's late and I'm hungry, so ya'lls can just take it. signing off...
#1: $50 to $100 (depending)
the reason behind this one is i was invited, by the wonderful Ms. Lovable, to go snowboarding with her this spring. All is in order... except for lift tickets. These cost about $200 all told, but her father is willing to foot half the bill, and my 'rents are willing to foot somewhere between all and none of the remaining, with the smart money being on half or less. So I need 50-100 dollars, in a few weeks from now. which leads nicely into...
#2: A job
"Whaaaat!?!" I hear you asking. "this lazy Jerkoff wants a job!?" Yes, because with a job, one can obtain this magical substance called "money". with this substance one can conjure any number of goods and services. Of course, like any magical material, it comes with some pretty steep prices. not least of which is the fact that you have to work to get it. Unless you're a doctor, lawyer, or banker, that is. Zing!
#3:A Car
Ahhhh, wouldn't it be great? riding down the highway, wind blowing in through the open windows, cute girl dressed in something sexy in the seat next to me, blasting whatever damn music we want at pain-inducing volume. This is just one of the many, many reasons I want a vehicle of my own. A car would be a magnificent first step towards freedom. And I would have a place to sleep other than this humble abode. much like...
#4: A house/apartment/whatever
I would really like this one for reasons similar to those outlined above. also my girl could come live with me.
That's really all i can think of right now. It's late and I'm hungry, so ya'lls can just take it. signing off...
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Grounded Rant
Don't let the title of this post mislead you, I'm not grounded. For those of you who don't know (although I can't imagine how, Lady knows I talk about it enough), I'm engaged to a beautiful woman. She's the one who is grounded. She's been in a state of "mostly grounded" for quite some time, but i was still permitted to see her occasionally (although never enough, for her nor I). Now, her parents are all bent out of shape about some bad grades she got, and decided that even this small bit of freedom and contact was to go (as punishment, of course). Or, at least that was the impression I had gotten. It turns out that i was a little unfair to them, but regardless. What really bugs me is thus: grounding as a form of punishment is utterly useless with any child with a slightly longer view of things. Of course, the same can be said of most forms of punishment. I know i am particularly hard to punish, as there are few things i want, beyond those that i need: food, water, my girly, internet access, and precious little else. Okay, I've recently discovered a fondness for fun times with good friends. I can't really think of anything else, and I smell my dinner calling, so this is me, singing off.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
First Post
so... I guess i better post something, or else it's not much of a blog... so, yeah. If i had started this blog a year ago, you would not recognize me today. I have changed so much in the past year, it's not even funny. I'll probably be posting poetry, random philosophical BS, hate rants, and just generally pouring the contents of my head into the Intarwebz. So, if my blog is empty, you know why. don't expect anything super-regular, either. I don't do schedules super well, unless they're important, hence why my Fitocracy score is so low. so... yeah i think that's all i got.
signing out. (for now)
signing out. (for now)
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