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.