- Just look at her over there. So smug and proud.
= What's wrong with that?
- Nothing in your simplistic world view, but there's something about her. I've had my eye on her all evening long and she's got this perma-smile as if she's having the time of her life.
= Maybe she is. Why don't you talk to her?
- And ruin her evening? I don't plan on it.
= Go on! You never know how a night will go.
- Sage ... there's something sage about that. Apart from the odd rhyming.
= Are you going to approach her?
- I guess, I might as well.

...

- Hi there.
: Hi, Do I know you?
- Not yet. Can I get you a drink?
: Sure, I'll have a Manhattan.
- A Manhattan for the lady. And a double Southern Comfort on the rocks for me.
: You trying to prove something?
- No. I just like a good drink.
: As do I. I should warn you though that I don't really plan on sticking around for conversation past the drink.
- You shouldn't feel obligated to. I'm hoping I'll be able to change your mind and get you to stay for a bit.
: It's going to be tough. I've got work early in the morning.
- What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?
: You know ... I do mind. I'd rather not talk about my job to a stranger in a nightclub, no offense intended.
- None taken. Would you at least do this stranger the honor of a toast?
: To what?
- To chance encounters.
: Why do I get the feeling that you're the persistent type?
- Because I don't give up easily like any other stranger you might find at a night club. In a nice way.
: So was that a friend of yours over there?
- Huh? Who?
: You were speaking to someone before you came over here.
- Oh, you were watching then? Not so much a friend as a business acquaintance. In a tenuous partnership.
: What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?
- Mergers and acquisitions.
: Wow. What ... aspect of the acquisitions do you deal in?
- I'm there on the front lines, not so much negotiating as making my demands heard and felt.
: It sounds exciting.
- Oh yeah, it's ... what keeps me sane, to be honest. Though there isn't much money in it, so it ends up as more of a hobby of mine, something I do on the side, as odd as that may sound.
: No, I guess not ... see, I really do need to go now, but if you want, here's my card - give me a call and we can chat a bit longer.
- Most definitely, mon cher. I'll get in touch real soon.
: Alright, bye.


...

- What you got?
= Hers is the Beemer SUV outside.
- Right. You did the deed?
= It's not going anywhere.
- I guess I'll go and give the lady a hand then, eh?
= Don't be too rough with this one, you hear?
- I hear you just fine. This is gonna be a great night.

Scheduled Outage

- This is about time.
= Yeah, you've certainly taken your sweet time getting here.
: I'm sorry guys. I got caught up in traffic. It's pretty crazy out there.
- You could have left earlier
= Yeah, earlier.
: Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. At least I'm here now - better late than never, eh?
- Yeah, yeah - well, have you got the package?
: It's right here. I had a tough time with it, you know. Cops all over the place.
- Now don't get your knickers in a shit-stained twist. Not like they'd know what to look for. Certainly not a fag on a bike.
: Please don't call me a fag.
- I didn't call you a fag - just said they're not looking for a fag on a bike.
= HA! Is there something you're not telling us ... FAG?
: Whatever. When are you guys doing this?
- I don't know. Gotta check the quality of the merchandise first. When did you get this?
: Last night. Found it on my doorstep.
- Did you check it?
: For what?
- For anything. Bugs, trackers ... you know, high-tech shit?
: Like anyone cares that much about small time shits like us.
= We're not small time man. We have big plans. You're on the road to greatness here.
- Enough! Sometimes you really piss me off - you sound like a little bitch on coke.
= Oi fuck off!
- No, you fuck off!
= I'm warning you, mate.
- Oh fuckin' heck! Just ... shut the fuck up for a minute.
: Well, I'm going to be heading out now. If you need me, ...
- Shut up and sit tight. I'm going to check this first. If I need you, you're going to be right here.
= I don't trust him ... this package. Left on a doorstep.
: I'm right here, how about you talk to me
= Well, fine! I don't trust you. There's something ... the way you walk, talk, ... smell, I don't know. You're not one of us. And you know it. That makes you a fucking liability.
: You're a fucking liability - I've seen dogs' drool with more IQ than you.
= What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
: It means you're too stupid to even understand when someone's calling you a total idiot!
- Will the both of you just SHUT UP?
= He's messing us around, man. Give him back his package and get rid of him.
: This is stupid. I'm leaving. You know where to find me.
- Stay there man or I cannot assure that you won't get hurt.
: Fuck you too.




BAM!

: FUCK! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! Right in the fucking knee! GODDAMNIT!
- I'll turn your balls into a fucking vagina if you don't shut up and stay still. I'll drop you off at A&E when we're done here. ... dickweed.

Missing Out

- There! It's nearly complete.
= What is?
- This thing that I've been working on all afternoon.
= Oh. What is it?
- It's a ... how much do you know about the theory of relativity?
= That's the Einstein one, right?
- Yeah.
{and he hoofs it upfield...}
= Isn't that the one where when you place your hand on a hot stove, a second feels like an hour, and when you place your hand on a hot woman, an hour feels like a second?
- ... Yes. Well, I don't suppose you know the actual theory and ... such.
= I can wiki it, if it helps. Do you mind if I turn the volume up on this?
- Uh, yeah, go ahead. [...looks like he's going to get a yellow card for that...]
- Basically, it says that space and time are relative rather than absolute concepts.
[He Takes The Kick! A Header! It's a Goal!]
- And this is ... well, I had a theory of my own. I suppose it gets complicated at this point. But ... it's exciting.
[A Minute Left In The Game. Can They Come Back Or Is This It?]
- How much do you know of Quantum physics? Well, never mind. Don't answer that. Sheesh ... how do I do this?
[... THROUGH-PASS INTO THE BOX. FIRST TIME TOUCH AND IT'S GOOD!!! IT'S ALL LEVEL AGAIN!]
- Can you turn that down? I'm trying to explain something. Unless you're not interested.
= Sorry, I'd much rather watch this game - it just kicked into overdrive.
- Oh, but ... this is cool. You'd like it. It's to do with time travel and the other dimensions.
= Yeah, I really couldn't give a shit about that, but I'll listen to you after the game if you want.
- Uhh, it's my TV.
= What?
- It's my TV.
= What has that got to do with anything?
- It's my TV. If you want to watch the game, watch it somewhere else. I'd like it turned off so I can work in peace.
= Or you'd rather tell me about your stupid invention. Look, I don't care. I'm here now - if I leave, I'll miss the end of the game.
- I don't think it's really very ... nice. I mean, it's my TV.
= YES! I got it! Fine, I'll watch the game somewhere else!
*SLAM*
= Good riddance.
[AND ANOTHER GOAL! WHAT A MARVELLOUS COMEBACK! That Has Got To Be The Most Glorious Work Of Football Art Ever! a goal that will forever ... }

In the slipstream of questionable Gods

- I want to be more than a full stop on the course of human history.
= To be fair, I think that's hoping for too much. You have to be famous ... or at least have contributed something to humanity to be a punctuation mark.
- What about being a word?
= Nobel prize-material.
- And a name?
= How's a name different from a word?
- Well, I guess - never mind. I just want to matter.
= Then do something with yourself.
- Yes, I should. I will. I - what do I do?
= I don't know. Use what you know to accomplish something. Cure cancer. Invent free cell phone technology. Abolish slavery.
- Isn't slavery abolished?
= Perhaps it is, but at least it's something to aim for in terms of scale.
- I think that's a little too high. I can't accomplish anything like that.
= Why not?
- Because I'm no Einstein, Poirot or Washington. I'm just me. I'm normal, average.
= Poirot?
- I was bored at the library last week.
= Well how about that? Why not write? You read quite a bit when you're not hooked onto one console or the other. NOT that there's anything wrong with that.
- I suppose I could. But what would I write about?
= Whatever you write. Start off with some people talking about something - something inane. Who knows where you go from there?
- I don't know. I don't know if I can just write something. What if it sucks?
= Then it'll suck. If you keep writing, it's got to get better, right?
- I guess. So you think I should start with something simple?
= Best way to go about anything, I should say.
- Like a conversation?
= Exactly.
- About what?
= About anything you want. Heck, write about this conversation if that helps!
- That's a good idea. Can't hurt, I suppose.
= Not like a kick in the balls!

Love for All

- Did you hear? The priests took Jarrah this morning!
= What? They found his match? I thought he said he was safe.
- No one's safe - not even Jarrah.
= Yeah, I know that. But he had the system figured out.
- Obviously not.
= That's ... scary. Who told you this?
- No one. I saw it with my own two eyes. They dragged him away, kicking and screaming; He was shouting about denial of freedom.
= Heh. Fitting - for Jarrah, I mean. I wouldn't have imagined he'd go easily. Did they say anything about his match?
- The Priests told his mother about some farmgirl out in the country. That Jarrah would do some real work for once in his life.
= His mother must have been happy.
- Yeah, the mothers always are. They never went through it. They just wake up one morning and find their "match" on their doorstep with two Priests ready to marry them right there. It's sickening is what it is.
= Shh! You don't know who's listening.
- Yeah. I get it. I still think it's crap. I saw them take Jarrah away and, yeah, it's news and I suppose it's gossip when you think about it. but this isn't the first time I've seen the Priests take good men away. All in the name of a fascist fanatical ruling.
= I'm not too sure it's fascist.
- Well, whatever it is. It's stupid. There isn't someone out there for each and every one of us. There's no perfect woman who I'm destined to love and by loved by. There's no one for you. And there's no one for Jarrah. I mean, not in a bad way, but there's no fateful matching. How the hell do they even match these people? Sure, they never break up, but you ever wonder that maybe it's cause they're scared to? My mom and dad Hate each other, but they'll never just "split" cause of what the Priests would do if word got out that their system wasn't perfect.
= My mom and dad get along fine. They probably even love each other.
- No they don't. They're more likely faking it. Making the best of a bad situation. I mean, have you ever wondered why the Priests themselves and the Parliamentary members always seem to be matched with the youngest, freshest, most beautiful women around? Do you think they're taken away kicking and screaming? No, because they know what's awaiting them at the end of their journey. Many, many happy nights for them. Maybe those women aren't too happy. Who knows?
= It's just the way things are. You're taking this the wrong way.
- How the hell am I supposed to take it? Jarrah was a good man!
= He's not going away to die. He'll be fine.
- No he won't. None of us will. It kills you inside, till there's nothing left worth living for. Why bother staying alive another day when they rip out your heart and feed it to whoever they deem fit? It's all up to them - scumbags.
= What's that car doing down there?
- Which one?
= That black one - the one with the ... Priests.
- Coming this way. Damn! Run!

Piece of a Story-Jigsaw

- If you have something to say, say it. This silence is just time wasted.
- And what would we be doing with this time?
- I don't know - at the very least something better than the nothing we're doing now.
- No, if we were talking, this is what we'd be doing - arguing.
- We're not arguing.
- Then we're not exactly communicating smoothly, are we?
- I'm communicating fine. Most of the hostility here is at your end.
- I am NOT hostile. I've just had enough, is all.
- Had enough of what?
- Of ... trying to be something in absolute fucking vain.
- Who told you to try to be that "something"?
- No one did - don't turn this back at me. This is not about me.
- Then what is it about? You're avoiding every question with another incomplete statement. You don't need to be dramatic here. This isn't on show.
- I have to pretend to be something in order to play catch up here. I'm a speck of dirt in comparison to you. And, YES, I know - I should just do something and quit bitching, but that's not really the point. The point is that I really don't want to. I'm ... in myself, generally happy. I enjoy most of my life - yes, the general direction can be misguided at times. But these little things. My loves and obsessions - they give me great pleasure and joy. But you ... when placed up against you, they all amount for nothing. So here I am, twisting and turning to create something worthy of myself that can meet the demands in trying to get through to you and being who I "am."
- That's a lot to say.
- Yes, so feel free to judge me. Just ... don't speak your mind. Because I really don't want to hear it. I know the words that will emerge. If not the words, I know the tone and I don't want to hear that tone. Not now, not ever.
- So we should go back to saying nothing.
- That would probably be for the best. Even better if I disappeared and took this with me like a bad memory.
- There you go again, hating yourself.
- Did you not hear what I said? I don't hate myself. I just hate ... other things. I'm expelling the evil foregin bodies from an otherwise happy mind.
- You're deluded.
- Yes, I am. And I've had enough of it.

"My name is Isaac. This is my first time here. Uhh, some friends ... they told me to come here. They said I needed help. So, I'm here."
"Thank you, Isaac. Why don't you tell us a little more about yourself? What do you do? What is it that has brought you to us?"
"I'm a technical systems co-ordinator in one of the nearby car factories. In english, that equates to ... nothing, really. It's a bit of a futile job. You see, they have these machines that pretty much do everything. Industrial Robots ... defined as automatically controlled ... well, I'm sure you know. And they're ... well, automatically controlled, as I said. That means that there's no real need for humans, only these companies - they have to have a set number of them, some real titles, but there's not enough of them. So they make up some - like mine. I'm supposed to make sure they run fine, but they usually do. And if they don't, I call someone else who is there to call someone who does know what to do to fix them. So, to bring me back to my original point, I'm paid to be useless.
"It's a bit depressing, so I try not to think about it too much. I spend most of my days sitting in a really comfy chair - it spins around. I've got it to go around 9 times without stopping once ... I wish that I'd filmed it - I haven't been able to do it since and no one really believes me when I mention it. So I watch a lot of TV. Daytime talk shows. They ... the boss people - they know what I'm doing. They don't care.
"So I go to Nightclubs and Bars a lot. It helps me ... keep in touch with the world. And I drink. When I feel cultured, I drink Bloody Mary's. Otherwise, just a bottle of Jack Daniels would do. And I dance. Or ... move. It ... never mind about that. My friends say I go to these places too much and consume too much alcohol. I haven't gotten into any trouble with any of it yet, I suppose.
"There was a girl, as there always is, this one night. Pretty, in a short green dress that glittered like a sea of emeralds. She had clearly had too much to drink and must have seen me out of the corner of her eyes. I usually ... dance in a 'quiet' spot, but she moved my way and ... did her thing.
"Now understand that, normally, I would have moved, but she held me in place - as she swayed in that hypnotic green against the backdrop the red strobe lights and an alcohol induced haze, I was transfixed. And as the night went on, I was in love with this woman who loved me enough to give me her soul. At first, it was just a light grip on her left hip as I nudged closer to her. Then it was a tighter grip on her right hip. Then we moved closer ... and kissed.
"And ... I'm sure you can gather what followed in the parking lot in the back of her car, without being too crude. And that was that.
"But I guess it wasn't. I heard from her ... her lawyers, I suppose, a few days later. She accused me of rape. Or ... not just rape, but a fancier term for it - I call it destroying my life. The case, it was thrown out, but ... life's different. They talk about firing me from my Nothing job. Because apparently an accused, but acquitted, rapist is not someone they want on their employee lists.
"My friends spoke of this place as a refuge. To share ideas and pains. To get back in touch with the world. I'm not so sure of how it could work as my landlord wants me out as well. I thought life was pretty good - it's amazing how ... uncertain it all is. All the time."


Picture provided by Moin Uddin - http://moinuddin.blogspot.com

Action without Consequence

So there was this duck. A female duck ... "Duckette" - that's a good name. Duckette had three children. Ducky, Duckbill and Duckbutt. For short, she used to call them One, Bill and Butt. Cause the first duckling would have been just Y ... or Ee. And that wouldn't really make much sense now, would it?

She was a single duck-mom - their dad killed by a hunting rifle - but she raised them with all the love and care that could be afforded by a single duck-mom. She awoke even before the sun had time to brush its teeth to find that early worm. Only the best regurgitated worms and fish would do for her precious trio. And she loved each of them infinitely and equally.

It was with this extreme care and love that the three Ducklings grew up to be proud and cheerful duck- ... men. One, being the eldest, lay down the law for his duck siblings and often led the flock on their long, biannual journeys. He was, undoubtedly, the most headstrong of the three.

Bill, being the middle duckling, was always in a mood of complete satisfaction. With the immediate protection offered by One and the "occasional" slave status of Butt, there was no pleasure in ducklife that he missed out on. Rumors flew around the flock that several ducklings every year were his offspring, though he refused to admit it, usually neck-deep in flirting with the latest duckwoman to join the herd.

Butt, perhaps the most loved in the equally adored trio, was also the most turbulent. Being the "butt" of every one of Bill's jokes over time embittered him. It may seem simple and childish, but ... Butt was still a duckling at heart - always the cutest and youngest duckling around. Childhood was what Butt knew and did best.

To be continued



This may seem like an awfully long tome merely to delineate the ... unique features of each brother, but it shall serve its purpose in time. And, yes, I am full aware that a Male duck is a Drake and a Female duck is a Hen.

66 Zombies on a Highway

- Never have I seen so many unhappy people in one place.
- What about the airport?
- Well, that doesn't really count ... ok, I suppose it does, but not for this context. An airport is a place of great stress, you know? People leaving other people behind, returning perhaps when they're not wanted. Or even anxiety in anticipation of their arrival - it's all a tricky business. Smart are the few that pick up their ... arrivals from a gate at the edge of the airport.
- Right, so go on, about this place then.
- I'm seeing all these beautiful happy people everywhere - printed up on the posters. The rest of the shoppers here are miserable. Apart from that baby in the bloody pushchair, I can't see a single person with a smile on their face.
- Empty wallets make for sad faces?
- Sure they do, but everyone here - I mean, take a look around you - how many of these people are truly ... okay, forget about the whole materialism and if we can really be happy in that regard side of it. Can you see any ... fuck, just any mildly pleasant faces?
- As much as I'd love to contradict you ... no, I can't.
- Exactly! Therein, with little subtlety, lies my point. Maybe it's this country - this shit little island cut off from the rest of the world, swearing allegiance to an old hag who would care little if they all died, as long as she got her money from the taxes. But maybe, just maybe, it's people in this kind of a society and world.
- But there are people ... that do visit malls like this one - and that are happy.
- Perhaps they are - still, they are few in number and shall perhaps eternally remain so.
- Though, when you think about it, people don't come to malls to be happy - that's what parties are for. Where's the endless stream of alcohol, bizarre conversations or, better yet, people looking to be happy? Like at a stand-up comedian's show - the folks there are waiting to laugh - eagerly, like dogs - they're waiting for the punch line to come home and BAM! They're splitting their sides over a knock, knock joke.
- True ... I still don't get it. I don't like it. I don't like ... well, for one, I don't care much for parties. They're an exercise in self-destruction. In de-evolution, driven by sheer desperation, at whatever level, and by an uncompromising fear of lonliness. People that are simply unable to accept that they may very well be alone - without the wallowing in pain and sadness. Just to know and acknowledge that to be alone is not a sin and it is not evil or wrong. It just happens when you choose to ignore the one voice that has screamed your name for so fucking long that perhaps they're just too tired to speak in the face of such blatant Fucking ignorance!
- Uhhh ... Hmm. Okay, so you're ... not talking about malls anymore, are you?
- It's like that Romero film - I mix them up ... Dawn of the Dead, was it? The Zombies going to the mall - the in-your-face commentary on the consumer masses. This is what they are. Picture 66 of them on the Motorway doddling down the bridge and through the toll gate. All to get to this place ... this ... safe haven.
- Until it closes.
- Well, a Zombie wouldn't really care if it was closed or not.
- What about the security guards?
- Well, the Zombie would just eat his ... or, rarely enough, her brains out.
- Rarely enough?
- I'm being determinedly sexist.
- Ah ... that's ok, then.

Of Pipe Cleaning

Children are quite fond of bending pipe cleaners into various shapes and for this reason, one may find pipe cleaners at craft stores. However, these are usually made with nylon bristles or some other non-absorbent material and are frequently longer, thicker, and available in many different colors. Their popularity in arts and crafts, and the comparative rarity of pipe-smoking, occasionally leads people to express genuine surprise (in spite of the name) that they have anything to do with smoking pipes. Nonetheless in some jurisdiction their sale is restricted, along with lighters and cigarette papers, as "tobacco paraphernalia."

This entry is from Wikipedia, the leading user-contributed encyclopedia. It may not have been reviewed by professional editors (see full disclaimer)


Explains why you see these bright pink pipe cleaners on children's shows - unless your friendly Gay Grand-Uncle has taken to smoking a pipe every now and again.

Untitled - Chapter 3

- I don’t think I shall ever be able to … faithfully limn the events that followed.

She screamed with the most painful sob and before I could turn my head to see what had happened, she was gone from sight. Stumbling back to where she was, a giant hole now remained. I shouted after her but, after that instant, momentary sob that shall be branded on my soul forever and a day, no sound from her lips could be heard. The sound of rocks and gravel striking the walls as they fell into the black abyss was all that made its way back up.

Yet I screamed. And shrieked. And cried her name as tears streamed down my face. I tried to turn and lower myself into the darkness – to climb the walls, only to discover that no walls existed below the ground of the cave. And the longer I remained by the edge of the pit, the ground beneath my own feet began to crack and give way, leaving me absolutely lost and confused. However, it seemed that if I was not about to make a decision, the fates would.

Suddenly, a thick, blood-stained spear emerged from above, mere inches from my face, eliciting a fearful shriek, one that I didn’t even know I had in me. Instantly, I became aware of the thumps above me again and, more specifically, that the ones directly above me had stopped. While the world around raged on ever noisily, unsettling the dust within the cave, my little bubble was one filled with apprehension and a disquieting silence.

Before I could even shriek this time, a giant hand reached through the ceiling, grabbed my hair and yanked me out. The muffled sounds turned into a thunderous cacophony that stunned the senses, while I squirmed blindly in the secure grip of the hand. All I had was a vague sense of smell that was filled with the scents of blood and sweat and smoke from a million fires.

- What are ye doing here? Ye do not belong at a place like this!

The voice, presumably belonging to the hand bellowed in my ears, opening the floodgates for the rest of the world to rumble in like a tsunami of sensation. All at once, the sights and sounds became clear as I found myself in the middle of a giant battlefield, surrounded by perceivably millions of dead, living and disgustingly mutilated bodies all locked in mortal combat. A cursory glance to the distance revealed a vast fortress that ran the length of the horizon, smoke and fire rising from its grey, stone towers.

The hand that held me shook me once more till my attention was brought upon the long red beard that extended from a face so full of scars that it was hard to tell where an eye began and a scar ended. His thick red eyebrows were crossed under a furrowed brow – his eyes concentrating on my being, darting occasionally at sounds of a nearby twang of rope or clank of metal.

- SHIELDS UP! BLACK VOLLEY!!

A wild shout roared through the fields. I looked up to see the skies turn to black with countless dots that turned into lines and streaked towards me till everything turned to darkness again.

Marmalade Dreams

I have not eaten Marmalade in over 10 years (that's the number of choice at the moment, though I'm sure it's longer than that). When I first heard of Marmite, I naively believed that it was an odd way to refer to the orangey spread in question. Obviously not, so I learned.

Now, I'm alright with Marmite. It's a spread that pleasing enough when not spread on thick enough to hide the visible grain of a perfect slice of toast (which is another dream and associated quest to be saved for another day), yet its savory tang leaves something to be desired when all you really want is a light caress rather than a fucking pinch (Yeast Extract) or Make-out session (I'm putting Crunchy Peanut Butter or any Chocolate Spread in this category) with your toast for breakfast.

And, yes, I realize that Marmalade doesn't exact have a smooth, tang-less flavor, but it's one that I have idly yearned for ... for a while. Since I first heard of Marmite, probably. And in those 6 years, that idle yearning has grown till now it is possibly on the verge of nearly potentially getting to the point where it could consume me. Almost.

And, yes, I realize that in the various hotels that I have taken temporary residence in over the years since this yearning emerged, marmalade has probably been on offer as a spread at the free or subsidised breakfasts on offer. But that isn't a fair example to cite seeing as there's usually so much laid out that the mind is often sent into a state of dicombobulation and perplexity that all that you can do is go for the beans on toast and the randomly pleasing children's cereal.

Untitled - Chapter 2

Take one step back – no, not to the beginning just yet. Hold on for a tick – this part is interesting. It was frightening as hell at the time. But interesting all the same. First this, then the beginning, then the nemesis and then I can get to the meat of seeing (and recanting in due course) my life flash before my eyes before a painful demise … or almost-demise.

This was a month before psycho bitch with the crystal ball. A month before she warned us of a horrible fate and a painful past. If she really wanted to be helpful she could have told us a real way of averting it rather than staying away from Jen. It’s like telling someone that the only way they can live is to stop breathing. Perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic, but … though you may not entirely understand how I feel, know that there are those (however few there may be) who do. And they’re nodding right now with a knowing little grin.

I imagine that she is crafting her own story of her life at this moment. Sorta like mine. But … no, anything I say now won’t reflect upon her in the best light. Not just now. It’s best to backtrack to the backtracking – to a month before crystal nightmares. Catchy, ain’t it?

Jen’s family – yes, she actually has one – lives by the ocean. No, not the lame beach kind. I’m talking about real ocean-front property, high atop a cliff that overlooks waves crashing with violent force against an insurmountable and jagged rock-face that can withstand any natural earthly challenge, barring the earthquake … I suppose that would be below the belt … get it?

At this time, a month before the last noted event, Jen and I were visiting her family. And the next thing to know about this section of the rock-face at least, is that it is home to an unbelievable number of caves that seem to go on for miles inland. And based on a recommendation of one of her step-sisters, we thought a bit of spelunking would be a grand notion. So equipped with head-lamps, timberland sandals, cotton clothing and some knee- and elbow-pads, we traversed a thin and precipitous path to once such cave that was referred to with a series of giggles.

We found the dark entrance with little problems – I led, as always … there was something in the air and I didn’t want to miss it. Jen was a bit scared, and normally I would have comforted her, but an unfamiliar urgency gripped me. I felt the coarse and uncompromising hands of fate upon me, guiding me onwards; To fight back would have been futile, I tell myself now. Easy consolation.

I don’t know how long we had been in the cave, but after a while, the ground began to thump. As if millions of feet were walking above us. There was the smell of smoke and blood in the damp and musty air. Jen coughed once. Twice. Repeatedly. Yet, I kept on, there was light ahead and we were closing in on the source.

As we neared, the thumps grew louder, now muffled by the sounds of shouts and screams. Metal clashing against metal, slashing bone and cutting through flesh. Each sound translated to a perfect image that seemed perfectly familiar all at once. I could hear Jen begin to cry. She sniffed. And snuffled. I spoke the only words between us in that tunnel.

- Shut the hell up, Jen. We’re almost there.

Regret’s a funny thing, but not when it flows through you like a million volts of electricity. And not when the woman you love suddenly falls through the floor and disappears from existence.

Untitled - Chapter 1

– I imagine things would be a little different without these walls here.
– We’d keep running until we were locked in by walls again.
– So you think that this … moment was inevitable?
– As much as I’d hate to admit it, yeah. You can only run for so long. And we’ve been doing it for a while.
– So what now?
– We stand and face that which we fear the most.

So this needs some context. In my head, I can recite an epic as the light from the entrance begins to be blotted out. My heart stops beating. My lungs collapse as I gasp for breath in a moment that lasts forever. My greatest fear is about to blot the two of us in what I can only hope will be an instant.

Taking time back, not to the ever so clichéd beginning, no. To another point. A midway point – cause it’s a long journey to the beginning. We need a pit-stop along the way. This is that pause. Stop me if I’m going too fast. If my thoughts and words are running a mile a minute. Cause I’m about to die here. Or, worse yet, be crippled and left alive to experience an existence afterwards.

The two of us in this corner, Jen and I have known each other forever. And I mean forever. This lady, a real psychotic bitch, she told us so. Armed with an old and chipped crystal ball that she held in a thick red shawl. She said she was connected to the supernatural. To the forces around us that held us in check and ensured that what would be, would still and always be so.

She cornered us. No, not like this time, but more of imposing her presence upon us on a busy sidewalk. We huddled together against the wall of an old shop filled with antiquities and fossils that had not yet been granted names. We drowned in the depths of her shadow as she pulled out the crystal ball and told us that we were living in an unforgivable state of nescience and that she would be our saviour. In a mixture of heavily accented English and an assortment of alien tongues, she spoke of wars and sieges, betrayal and treachery … basically a whole lot of shit happenings through history. And me and Jen – we had been together through them all, she said. And then she said we always died together. At the hands of an insurmountable force. Our nemesis.

But so you see, forgetting the nemesis bit, this moment was half meant to be. Jen and I together, as we had been throughout history. Yes, so the woman was crazy. Incensed – driven mad by something in the water. But it made sense. It felt like it was right. We may be young and crazy, but … you know the feeling. Instinct spoke to us as one.

And then she warned us as we struggled to escape from the blackness of her silhouette – if we chose to remain together, then our nemesis would hunt and find us. We could avert that fate if we parted. Even at the end, we could do so and escape intact with our lives and all would be “forgiven” – her words.

We ran from her like we ran into this corner now. Though, a mile from her, we broke out in gasps and giggles before making out on a park bench wet with dew. Her white skirt and perfectly parted hair a total mess by the time that we were done. Perhaps we shocked a few old ladies in the process. Just so you know, that’s one of her turn-ons, offending people while engaging in some passionate act of love. Jen’s words. I’d just do whatever it would take to make her happy.

Speaking from the Old Country with a New Tongue

In a general state of affairs, I have indeed returned to this place that, in recent years, has become my home. Much to my chagrin, I will admit - I feel pained to leave that which was so joyous, but that is how it goes. Enough of that, at the very least.

I have been watching the World Cup with unrestrained fervour, if you must know. As if part of some religious ritual, I place myself in front of the viewing portal, ready to consume whatever the soccer gods deem me worthy of witnessing. There have been a lot of totally amazing games and some that have been ... well, not so impressive. Yet I am here all the same - it may be muted and on the periphery of my vision - but it still remains in my consciousness.

I am NOT a summer person. I cannot stand the sun or the excessive heat that it provides in these dreary months. I may cringe and whine during the winter, but bring on the cold and I shall be a happy man - armed with the right wardrobe, of course. Of course, indeed.

The latest acquisition in the world of games is that of Loco Roco on the PSP. First off - HUZZAH! A game has appeared in Europe before the US (preceding the US release by at least 3 months according to the current schedule) and I have been here to claim it for my own. This is the justification for owning and hanging onto the PSP. Many a time over the past few months, I have wondered and considered why I own this device even though it offers me nothing entirely special. Intentional or not, on the part of Sony, this game is one of those reasons to have a PSP. Created with such polish and ingenuity - a simple enough design that uses just Two buttons to play and is so endearingly cute - one would be a fool to deny it.

Granted, last week, I was treated to owning the Metal Gear Solid Digital Graphic Novel on the PSP, which is also a stellar creation, combining Ashley Wood's dramatic artwork with some cool technical tricks and a fairly in-depth and comprehensive look at the world of Metal Gear Solid Circa ... is it the Outer Heaven incident? Yeah, so I'm not too familiar with the timeline or its classification, I'm sorry.

In the spirit of Art, I shall mention a visit to Karen Miller, not a usual haunt by any stretch of the imagination. In this particular branch that I did step into, I witnessed something rather neat - a large, oval pillar that was covered with thin vertical strips of convex 3-way mirrors, not too dissimilar from what you might see in a fitting room, only convex in set-up and really thin strips - no wider than 2 or 3 cm. Now what was really cool was the representation of the world and the self in these. As you would move to and away from; from side to side; the world would seem to disappear and appear. The self apparates and disapparates - as if its all a figment of a semi-conscious imagination. It was quite beautiful.

And now I shall depart before the lag induced by the not-so-pleasant skies drags me into a drooling state of slumber once more.

To reaffirm that which may be lost

Good morning and Welcome.

I return. Now with the intention of remaining. For as long as this may "be."

I suppose it prudent to explain the reasons for the absence. If this would not interest you, so be it. I believe it serves to give context to future actions and, at the very least, present train of thought.

There has been a paradigm shift in this life that I call my own. One that I did not believe would have such a stark effect and surely not this that it has had, but that is in the past. It has been enough to make me question a lot - including this. The reasons for writing here have, in recent times, become very different from what the original intention was. It was to be a forum for my mind and for anyone who would choose to speak. Instead, it has morphed into a bitching session - a reaffirmation of how confused I feel with the world at large and the associations that I have formed within it.

There has been much pride and, what would amount to, conceit within me that was shaken loose - the thick sludge that hung over my eyes is not entirely gone, but it has been shaken off to at least inform me that my vision was well and truly obscured. What I believed to be faith in my abilities was shattered in the face of an insurmountable "foe" ...

Change has to be made. And as large a change as I can manage too. This is to once again be a forum of thought and opinion. Of belief without prejudice of baseless dreams. Of dreams without the sludge that obscures the focus granted by reality. Of that which I love and is of importance to me, without denial.

I am to write about videogames here with greater regularity. I realize that I have not spoken of these to appeal to an audience that does not and could not exist. But they are of importance to me. The discussion of this grand and modern art form is something that space should be devoted to and will be, from this point on.

I shall no longer waste time on the inanities of the days. Whilst entrenched in this reality and the context that it provides for my actions and thoughts, I am no longer concerned with the extraneous information that is to be disseminated - too much is revealed and wasted. The futile attempt to be cryptic is tiresome and grows old. Truth should be the name of the game, if only that sold as well as Grand Theft Auto. It's only a matter of time, I suppose.

Another blog will be born soon. As soon as I figure out how to link and craft one from these two, it shall be a place for fiction to reign supreme, where poetry and prose are joint rulers. And fact is as welcome as a forum for opinion. This is who I am. And that shall be who I write and dream of.

I have written and phrased too many sentences and lines for this return. Gargantuan essays on change and ... things that shall not be spoken of at this time. A lot of confusion that I have not been able to equate, no matter how much I ponder, reformulate and seek answers to in various meditative states. Perhaps at a later date, I shall post these, as a remnant of what was.

I thank you for your time and hope you'll return as the evolution seeks to continue.

I have returned

From my little hiatus from this machine that is ever so faithful.

However, I will be off this place for a while. My words will be limited to the people who they are meant for. If you wish to reach me, you know where to find me, else any comments made will make their way to my eyes.

Farewell, till next temptation drives me to speak.

Diary of a Pleonast

There was a quest today. One that has been ... 5 days in the making. Finally, the drama, or at least my immediate part in this chapter of it has come to a close. By the time that 16 days from this one rolls around, I will have the result. I'm sure that there will be something, some small dissemination of information earlier. Perhaps what I would not want to hear. But at least there's the maximum time delay before an answer reaches these eyes and ears.

There is little else that I would dare speak of at this moment. For such a grand variety of reasons that ... well, I won't bother with right now.

I thought that there was more on my mind to share.

Till another day ... dawns.

This is an Understatement of the Severest Nature

I am very, very ... very Scared of that which may lie ahead.

Till it emerges once more.

Ganked by an Immortal Fiend

Let it be said, yet again, that I am tired. Very tired. My eyes feel heavy and pained. Each second that they remain open is one of self-inflicted pain - one that I am all too familiar with, but have never voiced or expressed or understood to be pain that I do now. Until now, they were merely just heavy. There is yet so much more to feel and know of them, though.

Yet I am here once again because, more than anything else, I love the sound of my own voice, even if it is imagined within the confines of my mind. With such a potent fuel for the ego, how could I possibly say no. How, I ask you, with no desire to seek an answer. Pretty happy to be here writing and thus satisfying the requirements for a momentarily happy ego.

Today was a trial of sorts. Like friday, there were ... issues. Both self-propagated and ones that I was subject to. Things don't go as well in the hands of others, yet I couldn't really do it all by myself, so I must rely on their expertise and passion for perfection, which clearly was not entirely present. There is but one day to face of this before my temporary salvation, so to speak. Salvation from a point and place that has been very soul-shattering.

It was not anything in particular that created this weakened self, but more of a general break down. As if in the army and having a drill sergeant screaming down my throat, crumbling my core into a series of numbers, an expendable integer. No, not quite so bad, but I am weakened. What a boon for my enemies, wherever they may be hiding at this moment.

There is much worse in the world than what I faced during the course of the day. These reminders still do effectively little to alter my train of thought. The wallowing. The general fear that permeates ... there's things up in the air and I am no juggler. I am merely an observer of events, hoping somewhat idly that they may fall my way, perhaps allowing me a moment longer in the glorious spotlight of happiness.

An aftermath is due. Sooner than I would like. But as things flow, they must end. There must be a defining end of sorts. To a chapter, at least, if not the complete story. And it is to this chapter that an epilogue is being prepared, even before it can essentially be written and recorded for the rest of concerned history.

In more "positive" matters, I finally took it upon myself (with the help of a brave, select few), to complete the journey through the twisting pathways of "Resident Evil 4" and I can say that I clearly understand the accolades behind it. Up until this point, I have agreed with them on principle, based on early playthroughs and what was essentially a jaunt through to the halfway mark of the game. Yet, I missed out on the intricacies that can only be fully realized when mastery begins to sink in. A general comprehension of the mechanics and game. Becoming one with the system, visuals and sounds till you are Leon. Till you fire the weapon in your hands with unrivalled precision and stave off unrelenting hordes of foes. There is not one single thing that makes this game so unbelievably amazing - it is a combination of all the elements that make a game great - at least in their current evolutionary iteration. Until they become truly emergent experiences.

I should escape and sleep. The fear beckons me to hide in darkness once more. It ebbs and flows and high tide threatens to drown this weakened and pale-skinned soul.

Till next I forgo the shadows for a moment in the sun amongst the others that I seek.

Termites in the Core

3 quarters of an hour past the midnight moment. I sit here, in darkness permeated by the glare of Cathode Ray tubes assaulting from from the left and in front. They launch their attacks upon me as I sit here, seemingly bound at their will, unable to move and escape. I can feel the one on the left burning through my brain, sending shockwaves, in slow and dreary motion across the sphere that is lodged within the skull and under the thick mat of hair.

Back to the problem at hand and that is of fear. That when it grabs one, in the weirdest ways, I react. Weirdly. Inappropriately. General doing something (or not, as the case may be) that I would rather not. Completely contrary to everything I believe in and with no purpose in eliminating the source of the fear.

Something that has been on my mind for a long time is Forrest Gump. For the past couple of months now, I reflect upon the character. I picture the character, the soul within, that fictional as the context was, did not give up. Pursued his every whim and wish. And yet, you could never call this man flippant. When he dedicated himself to a cause, he would give his all. And yet, throughout the course of the story (which I love), he holds true onto what's important. It's like that Kipling poem about being a man. I think that this would be a part of that, no matter how far it may seemingly deviate.

Ahead of me lies 3 days of potential freedom and excitement. I am so overjoyed at the possibilities. And what lies beyond - I cannot simply contain the joy that wishes to erupt within me. That joy that overpowers me and makes me do stranger things than fear could ever dream of. All in the name of something better than I ... or so the voices tell me. Or each other, in their near-constant bickering. They speak to one another, occasionally to me, as if I'm only a side-story in this existence.

But I am tired. In the middle of this mental blur, life is beautiful. Mixed in with a serving of hope, mixed into a fine paste and sprinkled with a user-defined portion of "will," this dish that I call the "Future" is waiting to be tasted.

I wonder if I'll be hungry after a bite.

Till next the possibilities take me somewhere I have never been.

The unfathomable depths of frustration

I may not have faced death. I may not have been anywhere near its hallowed domain. I was probably closer to the realm of cuckoos and fairies rather than the eternal Never. Yet, during those fragile moments, I believed that my cards were played and the proud face of that unerring daemon stared at me through the hand. It was a full house that served to be more of a Dead Man's Hand. As far as I was concerned.

I suppose that was enough though. That is all that one needs to readjust. Perhaps not as dramatically as I may have hoped or wished. But there has been change. Enough to inspire action where there had been none before. Now, no matter what may be said or thought amongst the people of this world at large, I have my motives and they are not base. They are not crude or born of a material reality of shapes and forms. My concern is of the mental, ths spiritual - the spiral consciousness which I am honored to inhabit.

Wherefore is the point in saying what is said. It serves only to confuse. I would like to say mesmerize, but I doubt that anyone could be rendered such with such forced words. Even with this careful grace that I aim for, cohesion is necessary to affect a mind in such a manner. To twist it, confound it and redirect all possible trains of thought to the point that no original idea remains in the victim's mind. Like a master of magnetic powers, I seek to be a master of managing the magnetic qualities of thoughts and emotions. Manipulative, I suppose. But aren't we all? Perhaps not as overtly as such. But anyone who wishes to improve themselves and consequent "position" in this world must be so. This is the very basis of every self-help book ever written - How to manipulate the people around you to get what you want from life.

That's what the subtitle should be for everything.

Men Are From Mars, Women are From Venus: How to manipulate the opposite sex to get what you want.
How to Make Friends and Influence People: How to manipulate strangers to get what you want.
Seven Habits of Highly Successful People: How to manipulate strangers' perceptions again to get what you want.

I'm noticing a pattern here - yes, one that I have carved into the bedrock of self-help philosophy, but it remains valid. See for yourself. No, do not mistake me - I am not insulting these great tomes. I am merely breaking them down into the simplest component. I hold some of these books in the highest regard, for behind the manipulation lies a greater understanding of Human Nature. Of the spirit and its basic wants and needs. And how to use them to manipulate people into getting what you want ...

But I stray. From the original question - this fear of death that has inspired action. Unlike previous occasions where I faced a greater degree of death. Spinning in the middle of a dust cloud at over 80 miles an hour - when it ended, I moaned for a split second that it had ended so abruptly. In such an anti-climactic manner. The same thought, the same inspiration to act arose through my soul then. Yet nothing was done. Now, I wonder why. Why did I not immediately pursue what was revealed as most important in that instant? Why did I wait and waste so much more time?

Because I did not conquer that fear. I merely saw it. Encountered it. And watched while it drank tea and laughed in my face. Now, no, it is not conquered still. But I did not cower and hide while it watched me as a voyuer watches its forbidden prey. I leapt across the chasm that separated me from true consciousness and caught a glimpse of the ideal and the true.

I feel pure and joyous when I write. When words and sounds flow out like a babbling brook. Untethered, in spite of the banks. The potentially rocky shores that seem to contain its excitement and force a direction. The brook merely accepts the path and moves on, knowing that given the impetus, it would overwhelm the feeble restrictions that held it in place. These are the emotions that run through my words, driven by a passion at times. Perhaps I give them too much weight, instill them with an excess of pride. But to me they are important because they are my weapons. My poison arrows, sedative-darts or life-saving ninja-stars ... I lost the analogy on the last leg there, but the idea remains intact, at least to me.

When I write, there are no constraints any longer. Limited by speech - by the other that listens in a dialogue. By the tailoring to effectively entertain and communicate in a manner befiting the company, there is lost freedom. It oozes out as oil from a peanut. Now, the sandbox is mine to play in. To throw words, sentences, phrases coined from buckets of red and spades of blue. A castle of carefully constructed phrases of passion. I am passionate about what I say, even when it matters not in the least to me what consequences may prevail.

With these words though, I will depart now. Before they grow stale and the passion wanes completely, leaving me as the husk that I am.

Till next, I am grabbed by an idea and held hostage by the mental jugular.

See anything new?

There's some new additions to the sidebar - Now you can read that which I listen to. And, I believe, if you are foolhardy enough, you can even listen to a stream of what I am currently ... experiencing in terms of music through the link on either graphic.

Till next my whims craft something new and trite all at once.

My mind is racing. This heart needs pacing.

So you have your barbeques. Only this wasn't ... let me start again.

I went to a non-barbeque on friday. Ate some good ol' delicious vegitarian food like made back home. Not that I'm a vegetarian (and something that I'm mildly proud of for varied reasons), but it was very enjoyable eating. Afterwards, my hosts, their guests and I played poker. Which was also enjoyable. I made 45 cents on the night where others lost the fortunes with which they began their card-playing evening. So I felt good on that level.

There were, of course, other factors. As there always are. And they made things ... difficult. Nothing apparent and nothing on the surface. But within, I was screaming because I hated it. I wanted to leave and be the smaller man. Hide back in a comfort zone where I wouldn't have to face what I would generally consider unnecessary shit. To be broken down so subtly into my most basic elements. To feel so ... unimportant. By people/things that I would not wish to be subjected to.

Perhaps it was not that bad. For everyone concerned, it was a pleasant and fun-filled evening. But let it be known to those who would know what the hell I'm talking about (and I do not mean to let this be known to anyone at any time) that inside I felt deconstructed and broken. Weakened in the face of something that cared less than I could hope to.

But back to reality. The present and the future and whatever lies between and beyond. I look forward to the future. the near future. Some exciting moments ahead for me. Ones that will shake me and tire me. Others that will rack my nerves and set them on a level of high alert and tension the likes of which I have not felt for a very long time. But that is only natural.

There is no reference that I wish to make. Nothing cryptic that I have lodged within my mind that I am looking to unload upon this page, to be decoded and deciphered by the most determined reader amongst us. At least I hope that there is nothing that will be understood. That my thoughts may indeed remain secret at this time. There is much that I wish to not speak of. And yet ...

I was treated to a viewing of the Da Vinci Code. I will say that I believe in its necessity as a means of questioning that which must be. If one truly believes in the sanctity and validity of their faith, even this most superficial of fictional questioning is necessary. If not, then perhaps the truth must be sought after. But then I'm not a subscriber to any of these religious schools at any rate and I hope that I shall not be.

Unquestionably so, at any rate, I am excited. Very.

Till next the cool air blows across swollen flesh and the mind recoils into darkness.

Inspired

That is what this moment is. Not of a grand scale. No - not something that's akin to the coming of the lord or his saviour or even his dog - Holy Fluff. More so ... I felt inspired to be here at this moment, typing these words. For necessity. For the id that wishes to be and not be referred to any other, more emotionally loaded name.

On Sunday, I awoke in the middle of a desert. In a glorious valley, surrounded by rock formations that reached the skies and stretched further still - so much so that the heavens had to give way to their solid majesty. I rose out of my tent like out of a cocoon. Stumbling out, the light too bright upon my half-asleep eyes. There was a moment of utter confusion as I took the world in, with a glance, a sniff and cautious ears scanning the world around me. And then I realized that all was well. I was alone. The world still slept. Calmly and peacefully, it did not emerge from its slumber as I had. Standing in the middle of the road, I watched and waited patiently as slowly did the rest of the world awake. As the caterpillars made their way from the collective shells they had crafted for themselves.

I had faced fear. Not at that moment, but before - and that feeling remained. I was empowered like never before. It shall hopefully live on in my mind - a constant reminder of complete satisfaction and an unwavering knowledge of my goals. I feel trepidation as the moment sinks further into the past - as I consider these goals. I fear the failure that may surely follow. Even though its success and failure is not entirely in my hands, I wonder and I stutter. But I will proceed. The wheels must be set in motion and I must face this as I did fear's other form. The id will have its way and will suffer the consequences that follow, for better or for worse.

I've said this before. In my head and in other speeches uttered since the event. Partly because I must remind myself of these thoughts. Partly because the revelation must be shared. No. It's because I must not forget. So that I remember and do not lose focus. Am I that scared? Perhaps I am.

Down in Tokyo, near Ginza, well in Ginza, I suppose, there was a movie theater located in a massive skyscraper - I think it was the 7th floor. The theater itself presented nothing spectacular to me. Nor was the building. Just that it was interesting. To get up to the cinema, one had to take a specific elevator within the myriad selection of conveyances to take one up towards the upper reaches of the structure. Failing that, the person wishing to make it to the cinema would have to follow a complicated and vertigo-inducing path of staircases and escalators leading up and down in seemingly equal measures, no matter the overall change in height. It was an interesting experience, to say the least.

I must depart. This delay in travelling to the dreaming will be regrettable when I wake tomorrow and plot the course of the day that follows. But I shall keep my goal in mind and continually move forward as I must. To evolve is the only way.

Till this strain of cupidity drowns me in its murky depths.

Counter = 1

I am high. Above the clouds. Searching for answers. Thinking randomly – I am so tired. It sucks, you know, because I really want to accomplish something. I don’t want to be the weak link in this chain in this grand chance. I was “top dog” – I knew what I was doing and thinking. And right at this second, I really don’t feel like it. I feel weak and broken. Held together by force of necessity rather than will. I’m pissed off and disgusted. VERY much so.

No, I’m not wallowing. I’m venting. This may have been some time coming. But, as usual, it’s about me, me, me. Not progress. Regress. That should be a word. In and of itself. I’m so self-absorbed at this moment that even the sultry chaos of The Pot slips over me as cleansing waters over a black oily patina that covers the holy jewel of the Kingdoms of Heaven.

With a Gramophone in the picture, the psychedelic background settles into place. The swirling curves of red and yellow mix in with the blacks and the grays. For white is forbidden in this never-ending continuity. The collision of the forms gives birth to chaos. As the world spins around the central fulcrum that holds all in place, under the guidance of the pin that listens to the imperfections crafted into the space. I wish to be one with the something that envelopes me.

Right – I should put a counter up here somewhere. The number of times in a year, a month, a week, days, whatever – that I feel this exploding head syndrome desire. So if a counter is to be started – at this moment, let’s put it at 1. Remind me if I forget. It’s such a regular … fixture in the course of …

Going in a circle. On this gramophone.

Till a new word flushes its way into the conscious

I see something in the woods

Beyond the trees. Between the leaves.
Above the wanton blades of grass.
Below the leaden branches
That block out sunlight
Provide shelter to
Countless creatures
And more so still

There hasn't been particularly much to say that has spawned within my mind. This tiring week has taken its toll on me. Now I feel tired and ... really pretty down. I would rather not create a post that is going to be fairly self-deprecating, so I shall do my best to avoid so.

I'm luck y that it's been a quiet week. With the exception of monday, there has been little compulsion to accomplish any real goals. Though I now stand on the fulcrum point between an outcome that will either be simple and positive or messy and negative, that is not what wearies me. At least not to the extent that I feel right now.

It's more of ... is it a hopelessness? I wouldn't think so. The question raised in the previous post has contributed to it. I believe I have found an answer. It is one that pleases me in that I don't feel like a retard. That's not to say that it's the best possible solution. But I think that it's good. A good way to go.

Monetary concerns don't help. Insofar as achieving that immediate goal which is of the highest importance to me. No, I lie. There is something of higher importance than that - hence I find myself lacking. But it's complicated. It's not that this goal that I am "demoting" in terms of priority is any less valuable to me. I would not even dare to suggest it - even to myself. Yet there are still things which need to be done.

But - back to reality. Or an abstraction. Confined within this egg-shaped box - this self-imposed solitary confinement of thoughts and ideas grows tiring too. Keeping little and unimportant things within when there is the one persona within that screams for them to be unleashed, damn the consequences. But it's not like there are consequences to face. Just ... never mind. I am tired in terms of what my mind is even capable of sharing right now.

There is an opportunity to explore the unknown. To do so in the company of those whom I would not mind to be in the presence of. Yet I would rather remain in these "familiar" shadows. Resting these mental bruises. I will go to work tomorrow and I plan on doing nothing. Even more so than today. I plan to waste the time that I have been granted. To whittle it away with personal activities in spite of being granted the greatest gift in the world with this job. Why would I even consider doing so? Does this mean that I am not truly worth this chance? That I cannot appreciate the grandeur therein?

Perhaps it does. Perhaps not. That is not of major concern to me, contrary to what the previous paragraph might suggest. There are far more important matters that loop in my head. Keeping "broken" promises before I lose all hope of ever conveying value with my words. In this sustained unreality, words are all I have to share. It's like a vendor of a particular ware having his stock reduced to nothing. Bankrupt and broken, he must find a way to rebuild. Only there is nothing to replace these words with. These words are but my own and so shall every one that emerges from the spirit within.

Till the frog leaps over and away.

I have a question for you

When is it time to give up?

I don't know. I can't tell. When I pose the question to this reality, all I hear are the voices in my own head.

There was much eloquence to the idea of this post when I conceived of it earlier on. Most of it has been lost, but the idea remains and here is the question I attempt to ask. There are possibilities. There are hopes. And there are dreams. And then there is the ... reality that is in front of my eyes. How far must I walk down this path of thorns before I should just give up? Or should I never do so, engaging my will completely in the endless struggle to lay claim to that which I desire? Speak to me, silent masses and I will listen ...

Till I return with something less akin to a futile question.

Am I dreaming or ...?

And how are you today? Today was a nice saturday. Apart from a slight headache during mid-afternoon, it was a good day. Stuff has been accomplished. I completed Dreamfall: The Longest Journey. An odd ending ... that's the best way that I'd put it.

Also been making my way through to the Two Thrones as the Prince of Persia. There are some interesting storytelling styles and play mechanics to be had that make it such a stellar experience. I look at these games as examples of the story telling that is possible through games as opposed to books or film. Or even static art like paintings. No, for the most ... "technical" of gaming critics, they are not examples of the pinnacle of the art of gaming. But they use certain techniques that I find interesting. More so with PoP and the narration/conversations that continue during gameplay as they did during the Sands of Time. Only there's more now. It makes the world so much more alive. And these usually take place in "clear" platforming sections so you can listen to this as you glide through the world. But anyone who's played this iteration of the series would know exactly what I'm talking about.

At any rate, I was "forced" to venture out for the evening to meet and converse with some real people as opposed to the virtual reality into which I had immersed myself. And it was odd. To brush my hair after a long day of gaming. To perform an action with no immediate or grand consequence. To know that I would go somewhere and meet people without an urgent need. With real and simple, domino-effect possibilities. The scale of the needs and effects of actions differ so vastly between gaming and reality ... it was an interesting pill to swallow. One that I've taken before, but it's still odd all the same. Amusing.

But a good time was had during the excursion into reality. Not something that blew my mind or from which I can forsee grand repercussions, but a good time all the same. Good food. And some interesting analysis was to be had. In people's manners. In ... I'm very ... concerned with self-worth as mentioned or could be gathered. And this meeting with folks was good for me in that I could speak words of value. That had an effect upon their beings. Craft sentences that would inspire laughter. Even if in a person that seemed to laugh too much for their own good anyway. But it was still a good boost for the ego. And an interesting lesson to learn.

It feels extraordinary to make people laugh. To elicit a positive response. I'd be pleased/happy if I could go about my days and accomplish this on a near-constant basis. Of course, when I was trying to be entertaining, that is. Not when I'm writhing in pain after having my leg amputated by a crazed hobo. No, I wouldn't want to draw out peals of laughter from anyone at that point. ;D

And it seems like I am lucky enough to be granted a chance to watch an episode of Ghost in the Shell:SAC. Somehow always seem to miss it.

I've been listening to my fair share of music. Including bits of an upcoming album that's quite ambitious in terms of length and content. And there's this particular song that makes me smile. It made me smile when I first heard it ... and then the chorus spoke of smiling. An odd moment that returns every time I listen to it. Yet, a thought struck me, and now the smile is a bitter-sweet one. I enjoy the song for its beauty. And for who the song makes me think of. I suppose the entire album does that ... but this song in particular did. And reality plays its cruel tricks and I can but imagine where it would travel from this path.

I've done my share of ... existing in this space for the day. Again. It's time to return.

Till once more I question the bonds that hold me to this severed reality.

Is it, really?

I ponder and wonder and seek to speak from under a mile high, under a darkened and stormy sky.

I've been meaning to return to this ... place for a while. More so because I've felt the desire to type. Not too sure what brought it up - perhaps the small bouts of typing during the course of the week and its work. But hey, at least I'm here now. Listening to Tool, of course. 10,000 days, of course as well. This year may not have as Many great releases as last year in terms of music, but it's more than made up for it with just this one album. And that's completely ignoring the fantastic work of Pearl Jam and what I've heard of the upcoming Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

The new RHCP does remind me of folk. Well, one in particular. Not the one you'd think, at any rate, but ... not sure who you'd be thinking, to be completely fair, but ... yes, it does. Like a - I'll skip the metaphor. It just reminds me of people, person. Whatever.

I've been fortunate to have a really good week at work. Thursday was just fucking magnificent. I told myself it would be and with utter determination, I made it work for myself and then everything just fit together in the most beautiful way. Today wasn't quite as spectacular, but it was still a great day. Stuff was accomplished. The weekend is upon me and I'm really happy. Not about anything in particular. When I reflect upon the things that I would ... look for to make me happy - I see not those things. They are distant and beyond any feasible reach. No ... I lie. It's within my reach if I were to once and for all actively pursue it. Not the consequence of happiness - just the possibility of reaching it.

It could be worse. This is what I tell myself, in case you were wondering why I would have the temerity to use such a trite and boring phrase. I don't quite believe that it "could" be worse, until I actually sit down and analyze it. And then it's clear that it could be far, far, worse - and that's only what I can imagine in a 5 second period of time.

There was a time in my life when I could listen to people. And listen. And listen some more. And then, at the end of it all, offer proper and perfect suggestions/advice. Words that they would not turn down because they were rooted in such compelling intelligence. I "lost" the "ability" years ago. I just remember it every now and again when the opportunity falls upon me to say something at these times. And the words that emerge are merely shadows of the former constructions of wisdom that flowed through my mind so naturally.

I try not to speak much when I can avoid it. Not being unsociable. I would rather attempt to listen than speak. Really hear these words that fly past my head with unclouded judgement. To take in and absorb every syllable contained within the thoughts expressed thus. But I suppose others don't wish to speak just to be heard as much as I would have thought. Guessed and surmised.

Wait.

Yes.

I'll wait some more.

I'd like to say as long as I have to. More like as long as I can before I give up.

That's the question - the question today - the question of my self-worth. It cropped up at some point and I realized that it was an interesting focal point. What is my self-worth? I'm not quite sure how it should be phrased as far as questions go, but it is a worthy one all the same. I have my problems with self-esteem. But self-worth. This feels like something else. How valuable am I to this world or aspects of it that I am associated with. I would like to know. More so, to know this value within the context of my own mind. To exert pressure to improve this worth at every turn. Alter the matrix as I see fit. ... No, not some megalomaniacal idea. More of a desire to improve, take the next step forward and ... achieve a higher degree of happiness. Find this thing that I am supposedly waiting for.

I loved Forrest Gump. Correction - I love Forrest Gump. It stands as one of my favorite films that I've ever seen.

But now i feel mildly tired. I'll continue to wait. But I will end this here. At the WTF note that we all love so dearly - wonder what may lie in the pot.

Till the beauty of the sound of this keyboard becomes an obsession once more.

Are you ready for a Eulogy?

You should be.

Fair and Flexible - Within New Confines

It's the color yellow placed in the middle of nowhere. With a blob of black that mars the purity of this crayola shade of the popular color. The black is etched in with perfect edges that mark the finest of lines across the expanse of the plain. A rush of black to the head and soon its all over. Before it began. Before it could conceive of it. Long before sound could arrive to represent the moment.

The idea was to speak out again. There are breaks and pauses in words. And between sentences. And, consequently, between the collections of sentences that comprise partially revealed thoughts. The only problem here is that, though the idea wishes to be spoken, heard and known, it's still going to be but another partially revealed idea and thought anyway. It's not like it's going to get any better. Any clearer. Any more honest with the world outside the bound of its creator.

Back in recent time, there was the unveiling. The grand moments. To revel in the luminous glow of enlightenment. Like the golden hue of the gloaming, the holy glow warms us. It is treasured and makes us feel important and special. That's why we wait. And hope for this possibility to come true and for us to bear witness.

But what comes after? After the flood that drowns our senses. After the wave that washes away ignorance - only to be replaced by a fresh batch of grains of this bliss. Like sand on a weathered shore. The waves come and go.

I am confused and lost in a square box. I don't know where to go even with barely a choice of which direction to turn my head. That's a beautiful image in my head more than the feeling of constriction that I feel. Nothing quite so dramatic inhabits my mind. And I'd be lying and/or pretentious if I said that I feel claustrophobic in any way now. I am confused by a lot that happens. Both in immediate consequence and fantastical notions. A lot of it is like being a deer in the headlights, even though they haven't been flicked on yet.

The other is the notion of blue in the face of black. It's there and you can see it if you really look. Really hard. With a bit of light. It's not the brightest of blues, but it's the blackest of blacks. And it gets blacker as the light fades. As its fading, the lines blur and differences matter not to the eye or to the mind that searches in vain for the slightest sensory perception of irregularity.

I'd like to use certain words that I shall refrain from doing. Because they appear often - too often to be justified in their intrusive appearances. More so the one, in the context of the others. And my brain knows not what it truly is or what it really entails to my person. But it is obsessed nevertheless and leads me on this wild goose chase through a maze of one path and one prize.

And yet I walk through the grass walls that impede any deviation from the prize-winning path. I walk through and see the alternate reality fill my field of vision. It acquires a permanence even denied to the fates. And snatches the heart and hope. Grips them in a steely grip of metal and sinew held together by unknown magicks.

I will speak another time but never with these words. Rejoice.

Till permanence is beautiful and mine.

Candlelit

First off, just to have my small say on the internet in the following regards:
Wii is one of the most stupid ideas I've EVER fucking heard.

Having said that, I can appreciate the idea and sentiment behind it. But it's still fucking retarded.

Enough about that. Talk about making a persuasive argument - NOT. I know it. But I'm not trying to make an argument to anyone directly and immediately. Expressing a general feeling within my person in a way that I want to ... yeah.

As it goes, today's a Thursday and the day following this is a ... ten points for the house that can complete this sentence ... SLYTHERIN! FRIDAY! CORRRECT - 10 points to Slytherin and complete control of the whole world. Yes, Friday - believe it or not. And, for that, I'm very excited. It's been an oddly paced week. The Monday and Tuesday were long. Almost unending in nature. Yesterday flew. Today dragged on. And tomorrow - well, we'll see. I'm expecting a really good day. Today was nice, but tomorrow's gotta be great. It'll be really fucking awesome.

For no particular, anticipated reason. It just will be.

Just saw the FF7: Advent Children flick. Again - though this time in a justifiably high resolution and in english. I understood the japanese, especially with the subtitles on, but for some reason, this made a lot more sense. The dialogue was less convoluted and the plot just opened up. Though some would argue there was no plot, but I'd say there was. A simple one, but I do believe is important closure all the same. With the cataclysmic events that ended the game, it told a story of how things got pretty fucked up for a brave few. So to return to this world and examine their moving on past that is something of a necessary epilogue, as in a classic novel.

An epilogue may take place outside of the story-whole, but it's still integral to the vision. Like having a widescreen tv - those extra bits on the side, though outisde of the main frame are still part of the intended perspective. And as important as every other piece of that frame.

The table tennis game is set for play.
People, tripping, all over the place
Tell me, it's not, this way today
Cause I don't feel like playing

Spectator sports suck. No - I'm not attacking you and your personal preferences. I'm just leaving out the "I think" before any such statement, as in (I think) Spectator sports blow goats! ... No, not really. More of a never mind. It was a misshapen allusion to something that is not how it seems like it could be.

Till till is followed by better words.

My Heart on a Seesaw

I’m listening to what is arguably (amongst a group of fools) one of the greatest pieces of music ever. Only the most rebarbative of ignoramuses would have anything to say otherwise. This is music crafted by Gods and delivered to us through the tacky medium of the recording industry. I am privileged and honored to bear witness to these dulcet tones and moving play of sounds. In your grand classical symphonies, you hear the music play with your ears, with your senses – they toy with your expectations and lure you into a game that will leave you drowning in tears of utter ecstasy. This surpasses even those unforgettable pieces.

I offer this soul on a platter to anyone who would dissect it for personal pleasure. Take it and do with it what you will for it is of no use to me. Not now. Feed on the tragedy that I create in the space of this moment. Vicariously, I live while the whole world dies … for some reason that phrase haunts my consciousness.

There’s that point – you’re on the road. In otherwise total darkness, you sit under a bright lamp-post that shines with pride. Stands tall and firm against the flood of nothingness. But no … I’m not sitting with pride upon this roadside. I’m hunched over. Once again. Huddled, trying to fight the shivers that run through my bones. Resisting the urge to look over my shoulder to investigate the strange, sudden sounds around me. The vulgar noises that pierce that pure silence that is in charge.

The reason I huddle is because I’m tired of trying in the daylight. I grow weary every day. And then, sometimes, I gain hope – I try. I reach out and touch the sky. And fall back down again. The cycle repeats itself so many times – why the fuck does one even bother trying. Tangled in a cryptic web of my own creation, all that’s left to do is lose myself in the music. In the chaotic sounds formulated for ears holier than mine.

Beneath stacks of white. In the looming shadows of towers that block out the unforgiving sun, I wait. Garbed in clothes of ancient and historic value, no longer, I query. I scream, shout and cry yet again. These heavens – they don’t listen. The words fall upon deaf ears without a heart or a soul. Much like my own. I wouldn’t listen if I were in their grandiose shoes. Slippers. Socks. Footwear.

Your poisoned silence leaves much to be desired in the way of Justice. The thorns littered among your words rip painful tears into my being. What I believe and what I think I know. I don’t know why I ever think it could be any other way. Well, I know why – because that’s what I have to believe, having been on this road for so long. And why? Were there no other paths? Were all the other roads torn down, broken by the neverending footfall of the madding crowds? Or was I too proud to follow a way that had been tread by others. So determined to paint my own track. At every turn.

I ask for a moment of your time. Like these moments that I have snatched from you whilst you read this treatise on unfocused lamentation. There is too much beauty that lies in the darkened depths of the thoughts that produce this. Too much beauty in hopes and dreams and expressions. The words are all I have, but I am no conductor of their kind. Merely an usher. An unnecessary cog in the machine – part of the prelude to the real thing.

The daylight dims leaving cold fluorescence.
Difficult to see you in this light …
Please forgive this selfish question – what am I to say to all these ghouls tonight?

Now it’s time for me to let you go.

Till next the words flow convulsively through the brain stem.

Karmic Justice

There was a walk in the darkness earlier this evening. Well, not a whole lot earlier. Perhaps beginning an hour ago. Lasting for 20 or so minutes. Before the walk there was thought as I sat on the train. During the walk there was much thought. Two separate trains, of thought, that is. But thought all the same. And thought tha tshall be shared. In some measure at least.

I would like to fly next week. No - I'm not wishing to escape yet again. But a measured trip to a long-since chosen destination. But I won't - because I'm too busy thinking of monetary consequences that are really of no consequence. Fear will bind you and the truth shall set you free. this I speak to you from within the cage, behind bars of cold steel and hard, unbreakable conviction driven by revulsion at possible rejection upon escape from the chains that stay my movement.

Years ago, I was betrayed by someone that I cared about in general terms of a relationship. I felt the utmost of what I believed was love only to have it shattered first by indifference and then by the truth. Later, I succumbed to the devils of loneliness and indulged in a week of weakness, but this is not what I mean to speak of. I've always held the opinion that the actions of this person, this unforgivable she, could be related to no fault of mine - that I was wholly innocent. Yet, earlier this evening, I came upon the stark realization that perhaps I paved the path for these horrible actions through the rules of Karma and its justice system.

Thrice in my "committment," did I betray her - with no physical deed - merely mental and conscious of my thoughts. On three separate occasions, I did seek to shatter those bonds that I claimed to hold so dear. Like I said, there was no physical deed or anything close to it that ever took place. It was all in my own head, but I wonder tonight if, given the opportunity, I would have followed through and did what the mind wanted of me. Would I have translated the fleeting lust to cheap and tawdry action?

This does not make her any less of a filthy, fucking whore in my mind at any rate. A whore who should face every penalty and admit the fucking truth under vials of holy water like the demon temptress that she is ... I like to think and hope that I would not have acted, if anything, to be faithful to that she. Which is a weak excuse and train of thought. Maybe I'm as putrid and repugnant as she. Deserving of the scorn that I inspire in passers-by. This invisible, yet palpable projection that inspires, at best, polite but very reserved conversation, only as needs must dictate. This was my day.

It's no fun till someone dies.

Those are not my words. Yet again, I choose to quote someone in another world than I.

The other thought. That was a question of power that I seek. Personal power. Not something lame like being a super hero. Nor is it about exercising unlimited control over those around me. But being the God that I am - in control of myself and my existence. Of the Person that I am within the shapeless shell that is inhabited.

If I could find the words and the courage to speak, there is so much I would do. More so the words. And to a lesser extent the courage. To tell the person out there of their extreme importance to me. With no reason or consequence, to express how wholly crucial they are. Not merely to me, but to the world, for they are truly special and unique. Not they as in plural - this is purely singular. I would tell this person that the importance that is held is because they are wonderful in every possible way even though saying it sounds trite and stupid. Careless and ill-conceived in word and spirit. That ...

I don't want to die any time soon. Not yet at least.

Till next, a legacy brings me to return.

Against All Reason

It's time for a change of pace. An alternate route through the written path that I tread on an irregular basis at this place. Where you join me in a mental search for yet another question that I refuse to see the answer for. And it's something that I do appreciate, as much as I doubt your existence.

I am the TV
Cause Tragedy Fills Me
Whatever Flavor
It happens to be

Today, I want to write about sadness. I want to convey to you - yes, you and only the you that is here at this second - an immense sadness and pain. I want you to feel the bittersweet treasure that is existence. That is losing everything you love in a moment, left with nothing but the most precious of memories - memories that would survive for fifty lifetimes let alone a measly one.

I need to watch things die
From a safe distance
Vicariously, I
Live while the whole world dies

This is my quest. Selfish in every which way. I am in a mood to speak and to be heard. To hear as well. But there is silence at the other end of this static-inspired unreality. Not fear. Never fear. Why fear something that is there - at the other end of the phone conversation. Embrace it. Swallow and absorb the sorrow. Make this selfish moment a part of your being.

I'm going to remind you that this is no ordinary sorrow. This is Sadness. The meat and bones of a smile in the midst of tears that flow with no end in sight. With no light beyond the curtain of pain. Yet the smile, the most pitiful kind, emerges upon your lips and preys on your mind. This is what I wish to share.

In the middle of a crater of epic proportions, you're alone. With nary a sound in sight, rock and dirt engulf you in a frozen wave only barely dulled by time and centuries. Blood has flowed. And there you are, in the center. How does it feel to be all alone - separate from every creation only to be mired in the remnant of incomplete destruction?

Indulgence in sorrow, in mindless, helpless spirals out of control are cheap. It's that moment where you want to give up. No - not the time when you're tired. Hurt. Physically or emotionally shattered - where Giving Up is an action of a Gigantic Nature. No. This is when it's gone on far too long. Where you've given up a million times before. And now it's just about finding an end. A solution that isn't even that apparent or possible. The blockades in your mind form an infinitely high invisible wall that cannot be hacked or coded past. There is no way to turn off the clipping in your mind to cross this insurmountable barrier. The Stop sign backed by immutable rules set only within your subconscious that prevent you from grabbing onto the one thing that the mind is convinced is the solution.

To chain yourself with steel wire whilst the love of your life walks away in the arms of another.

To hold on to a shard of a memory that you destroyed with your own two hands.

To feel fury directed at a cosmos that allows you to self-destruct with unfaltering grace.

I am still convinced of the existence of love, if only by the realization of the extent of Hate. I do not believe that the human consciousness is capable of truly expressing it. Or detecting it - finding the representative needle in a haystack of carefully crafted emotions. Sold at your local Walmart. Buy 1 get 2 free.

I feel like I've spiralled out at this time. On the last ... ring of the spiral. Now I may head inwards - a reflection of my journey this far. Or I pause. Stop. End on this note. On this spot in the growing structure.

I love what I do not know and I miss what I have never had.

I follow that which I cannot see and obey those whom I may never hear.

Touch that which is not real and be touched by that which will not come near.

Insurance saves me. Obsession cures me. My will is the curtain behind which the rest of me waits. Patiently.

I want to write something more. Let this be said and noted.

Till I walk on the path that leads to that day.

Love, Love Me Do

Love
Love me do
You know, I love you
I'll always be true
So please

I have dreams of the water. Not like going to sleep dreams, but in reading books of seafaring times, I have a longing to be near the sea. To travel upon her vast waters in an insignificant construction of wood and steel. Yet, I fear it. I panic at the slighest wave. The merest breeze that may turn things awry. Even on a mild and tiny river. Being afraid of what the heart seeks.

Cause it doesn't really think things through. It's this entity. The electric impulses - that should be my moniker in some form or another. Electric Impulse. Or something better than that. One that doesn't sound like a retarded 80's film about the Electrical Engineering major at an Ivy League institution who's tired of being picked on by the Jocks while he dreams and aspires to one day be beside cheerleading hottie, Maria Velaquez's side. And somewhere in there is a token, cheerful black man.

South Park isn't very far from the mark for the most part. Whether you agree with them or not, they make good points and decent logical arguments even within the confines of such a sharp and biased show. If you can look beyond the salt in the sea-salt ice cream bar of their message, there's something rich to be experienced in each episode.

Till the chasmatic walks once more.

Step Back, Little Miss Heart Attack

Hello





Is there something you'd like to say?





Yes? Speak up!






Is that how it is? I'm a bit shocked to be honest. I mistook your honored silence for something else. Too bad, I suppose. I mean ... yeah - really too bad. Cause I was beginning to think. Yes, really. Me - think? Hard to conceive sometimes, isn't it? But you'd be wrong to think otherwise. Because I think more than your average polar bear and, sir, I say, I'd be damned if I had half a clue of what the hell I was talking about!

I still press on with this case of mine. This idea. I mentioned how the pure, unadulterated bonhomie that is rarely encountered disarms me. I wish I hadn't, because I'd like to be the one to do so. This me, present me. Stupid past me. It confuses one sometimes, but by the time you get around to untangling the knot of confusion, said moment is in the past and isn't present me's problem anymore. So be it.

You ever wonder how the mind moves? The cause. I know I've mentioned this before - bastard - but it befuddles me. Like so much else in this world and beyond, it's a difficult task for me to get to grips with the idea that every idea is just a spark. It's trippy. Completely weird and it's something that one can just sink in a sea of pondering about it.

The Nightwatchmen do their job in silence. Watching and almost waiting. Always thinking. Or trying not to. When you wait, the mind races. More ... no - When I wait, the mind races. I don't know about yours. It's thinking. Considering. Suppositioning. Only I've been waiting a while. For a lot of things. And so it never stops thinking. Postulating. Analy-til-izing. ...

Perhaps not a lot of things, but - well I like to think that it's not a lot. Just a few and then it'll all sink into place. Cause that really happens, all the time. You wait. The answer comes To you. The path opens up before your feet. And you're guided with no chance of failure to the best possible outcome that will please your every hope and dream. And, in an ideal world, ensure that everyone else involved in said solution also finds their personal heaven therein. But it's not an ideal world, so they don't really find their personal jesus. Actually, it's far from an ideal world, so the whole answer/path/solution track is out of the question. Leaving you with a lot of reality drowning out a little of me.

I feel like I'm saying something that I shouldn't. I don't know why. But I suppose I can look back at this and remove it if it displeases future present self. Or that I'm on the verge of saying something. This is annoying. When I don't even know myself or the other person in there. Me, myself and I.

No, not inspired at all. Quite trite and droll. Unfortunately what makes it worse is that it is imprinted in my feeble brain by some crappy pop song from the turn of the century ... a girl in orange is all I can think of. Other people would know what I'm talking about - only I don't know who, where or what they are. If you find them, let me know and we'll celebrate with a pie-eating contest.

Its like your vision is clouded by this thing that is you. And there is one answer. Only one path to the given question. But it's not what you were looking for. Of course, it wasn't. It delays what you hope will be grand. But you agree. Because you said that that was the answer. But you lied. You refused to look beyond your own regimentations - yes, just flow with this improvised and bastardised use of the word - and just face the two answers in front of you. A) You really don't care that much. B) You're just scared.

There are other answers. But at least you're seeing a choice now. Better than the one answer that you had no alternative to. Little Evolutions.

But B isn't what it is. Nothing is. How can it ever be, unless you're in line with what has gone on and what will based on your actions and words, which is all that really matters - save anything else that goes on. At least you have the choice to act. Unless you decide to forgo it. Action might be as grand as breaking the shackles of oppresion or yielding to its deadly force. You've made the choice and the action to follow. It's beautiful and unavoidable economics of existance. I think the a is there - cause it's not the e. It doesn't feel right.

Till it goes again.

Let us never speak of this again

This is a morning blog. As opposed to the usual, I'm about to fall asleep at any bleeding second, now it's Morning Me to do the duty. So you can expect a stricter and far more efficient tour of duty in these digital marshes. With the enemy armed with though-blockers perched in every corner, I must tread carefully. It's worse during the day than at night. Now they too are awake and alert and there is much that will not be said. Scary stuff, isn't it? A bit epic really.

1 and a half more days left people. And there are so many things that could go wrong - and that is what worries me. But it's not as if they're vague - just ... I know I shouldn't be scared off my trolley for every little thing that could go all pear shaped, but I dread the consequences of such ... possibilities. Like having to return to whence I came. That disturbs me and fills me with the dread of a soldier, back in medieval times, having to walk in solitude to the cave that houses the fel-dragon of Mordreth-Kline, slayer of a million men.

But that remains for another time, I suppose. Now I should eat, drink and be merry - while I can still do so, that is.

Katamari Damacy. We Love Katamari. Me and My Katamari. I haven't done this in a while, so forgive me. These are three different games, the first on the PS2, the third on the PSP. It's something that Everyone should play. Katamari defines gaming at its best. A medium in which you can accomplish feats and experience moments that are simply not possible through any other of the traditional forms of art. The concept is this - you must roll a ball around levels, picking stuff up. Start off small, you're only large enough to pick up thumb-tacks and chess pieces. Eventually, the ball will become bigger and you'll be able to pick up pens. Batteries. Mice. Through the course of the game, you're picking up buildings, people and cars. The scope of the design is truly phenomenal - it's something that I'm sure even a complete non-gamer could pick up and fall in love with.

The mind hears what it wants to and therein lies the problem. If a sentence was understood exactly as it was spoken ... this is where words fail. The idea should be to communicate a thought. Not to exchange words behind which the thoughts lie dormant like eggs. How does one achieve this communication in all its purity and innocence when the mind that must conjure these verbal passages is clouded and its vision obscured from reality.

Till another day stops and says hello.