| Bandages and Bruises |
[Jun. 9th, 2009|04:09 pm] |
Let me first and foremost thank my programing staff this year for Colossal, (Brian I am including you in this cause you officially rocked,) for all their hard work and minimal amounts of sleep. We got thrown a bunch of bumps that were dealt with, and at the end of the con, the vast majority of attendees went home happy. We already know why those bumps occurred, and it will be taken care of for next year.
Overall, this was the least stressful ColossalCon I've had in five years. Various factors and variables were eliminated precon this year, and for this I am eternally thankful. Yea, there was stress, there was running about trying to fix things and straighten things out, but the over-impending shadows of ass were not there to cloud my brain with overwhelming problems. While my entire body is still soar, mentally I do not need the usual con-detox that I associate with past years. I am not rabidly anti-social, nor feel any dread about planing next year's convention. The added bonus is that we are going to be at the same location, so the frantic search and scout missions will not consume me the next several months. I know the space and the layout, which in the end will give us more options to ensure an amazing weekend.
I know full well where the problems this year were, and they have been addressed internally, so there is little need to perpetuate and gripe about them. Our heads, are indeed, not up our asses. We are aware, and it is either being taken care of, or has already been addressed. Comparatively though, looking at the last five conventions, this was the least amount of problems we have has post-con, and they are things that are a lot easier to address then the barrel of issues from the past two years.
I started prep work for CC9 yesterday, filed and archived all the paperwork and notes from CC8, invested in a new pocket notebook which absolutely makes me squee with joy (it's a moleskin) and have already started some ideas of new programing and options for next year. I admit, one of the simplest pleasures this year, was seeing the ColossalCon Confessional as a tangible structure all weekend long. It was one of those ideas from a middle of the night brain storming session, that came to fruition and was even more then I had previously envisioned. The people I brought with me, went beyond my level of expectation, and the level of pride I took in seeing you all work and share in my pain gave me pause to shed tears of joy. While I was suffering the effects of complete exhaustion, by your powers combined became the very essence of me and making sure that everything went on to the best of our ability.
Thank you.
We do it all again in a year. |
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| Heard Around Theah |
[Apr. 16th, 2009|10:40 am] |
7th Sea began last night, with much excitement and Vivaldi. What started as me drawing a little map in my sketch book had snowballed into me creating an entire 7th Sea Campaign, completed with color pencils and multiple notebooks. It's the first time in a while that I am not recycling characters or running with the same overall plot, there is no Black Jack or Atticus Brewer, it's not in Avalon and there is a lack of anything resembling the pirate mythos.
The characters are all, well scoundrels, wanted at some various point and location out there in the big, bad world. Leah is the Montaigne social butterly, Miho the Montaigne fencing moneky. Hannah is the "hit things" Vesten and Damian is the roving Castillian don. Brought together by fate, and making the nobles pay one guilder at a time.
Our heroes had spent the last year hiding out in Eisen, (think a broken Germany where everyone is dour and gloomy) on the run from the Inquisition and other notable groups that they had managed to piss off before start of game. They arrive in the Montaigne mining town of Pascal, and attempted to gain some amount of local lore and knowledge from a bunch of miners. Miners know two things, mining and beer. Everything else is not of their interest. The also met Bernard the pig farmer, who would give them a ride the next day.
After spending one night there, they head to Lierre-Vallee and begin setting up their first con. Apparently they are interested in mining and swine futures. The first marks are probably going to be a group of Vendel merchants, who don't speak Montaigne that well but are very interested in setting up mining operations in some newly acquired land.
Notable Quotes
Leah: Why is the large woman watching you leave?
Damian: Because I have tight pants.
Damian: I leave a four Guilder tip.
Me: Shit, for that he'll probably blow you next time.
Me: Do you give them your name?
Miho: No.
Me: What name do you give them?
Miho: ... Billy.
Me: They sing the praises of Billy and her generous guilder.
Me: If you don't know poop, you get poop for free. Everyone should know poop in every language.
Leah: Oh Shit.
Damian: That's a lot of fucking dice.
Me: I built him for you!
Leah: Bad Yeti! No touchy!
Good times were had, there was adventure... and Leah got drunk. All around it was much fun and well done. |
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| One door closes... |
[Apr. 9th, 2009|10:15 am] |
The Mage game has officially ended as of last night. It was the first game that I had run in a while that actually came to an ending and not drying up before there was some sort of resolution. Granted, in all theory the game is still going on somewhere in the ether, the world still exists and grows in the back of my head with things changing and evolving as time goes by.
There is little stagnation though, for next week they are all rolling up stats for 7th Sea. I'm in need of some swashbuckling adventure after the tedious investigations of mage. The mental images I gave myself from descriptions of crime scenes, the vats of embryonic fluid and humoculi, the complex plots with twists, turns and conspiracy. By the end even I was losing track of it all, with all the threads dangling around out there converging around the central antagonist.
The thing is, there was no great character arch, no grand final battle. Everything was just a shade of gray, from start to finish. But that is the nature of Magem it's not ment for ballads and tales, it is not the work of poets. It's dirty, gritty and brooding, to the point where there are no heros, no bastions of greatness, no scions of humanity. I need heros. I need villains. I need adventure and excitement. I need campy and dramatic bar brawls fought with rapiers and sides of mutton. I need blatantly evil villains, the scourge of society. All the sorts of things in an old Douglad Fairbanks or Errol Flynn movie.
And some Marx Brothers. Maybe a little Hope and Crosby.
In other news, I have a new computer. The difference between the two is like comparing a NES to a 360. I'm finding the speed of the thing almost unsettling, I'm not used to technology keeping up with my speed of thought. It responds at the rate that I process information, plus it doesn't take ass long to load or run through things that took forever on the old system, which is now being cleansed, reformatted and ultimately networked for various things. It's still a productivity box, complete with all the needed programs and files I need when it comes to being, productive. I managed to resurrect the portable that seemingly died yesterday as well, so it's delicious files are being transfered as I type this, before it to is reformated.
Then comes the conquest of Rome, the sacking of Venice and the converting of the Ottoman Empire. Oh yea, Europa Universalis III with 12 gigs of RAM. It's all just so full of stars. |
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| SimCity4 Kicking and Screaming |
[Feb. 13th, 2009|05:52 pm] |
I just spent the past week downloading content for SC4, to the space of almost 2 gigs. Words can not describe how amazing some of these buildings are, as well as how tedious the install process for them all. About half the files are textures, props and base buildings which are all combined into the plop lots for the game. Some of the content is real world businesses, big box retailers and fast food chains, which surprisingly do form realistic economic intercity franchise chains. I swear, I watched ten Blockbuster videos pop up in the course of an hour, and slowly all of them went out of business to be replaced by Borders and Target.
I lot of the lots are also European models, which simply take my breath away. Tile sets for canals and rivers, mountains and snow, deserts and scrublands... the amount of replay for SC4 just went up psychotically. I downloaded all the software Maxis provided to create custom lots, as well as the usertools the mod community has so graciously made available, as well as the tutorials. I'm going to attempt to learn how to use them all, mostly because the Rust Belt is seriously under represented in the databases. I already have a few local buildings in mid that I'm going to try and recreate.
I hope this ends better then the whole teach myself to draw fiasco of 1996. There were tears. |
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| Hounds of Winter |
[Jan. 27th, 2009|06:33 pm] |
When the deep, dark comes as the winter howls, the world takes shape for what it really is. Everything under a blanket of while, hidden away until new life dawns. No color outside the shades of gray, no real sound but the thoughts contained in one's own head. As calm and quiet as a crypt, as warm and loving as a tomb. Parishioners trudge in ancient ritual in trail blazed footsteps encased in ice. Senses desperately scream for something to intake, fighting each other in sensory Armageddon. The eyes always win, casting shadows of bleak and stark upon clouded minds and empty souls. This is the way things always are, until new life is born.
Bunkered down and holed in, supplies stocked and ready for the longest haul. Fleeting memories of ancient storms cast down orally from one generation to the next, the big bad is coming. So we wait with patient breath, for what our minds have conceived to be the storm of the century. Staring our iced windows, into the vast darkness of a winter's night, we sit waiting. Clicks of the clock move in monotonous tone, moon-lit snow casting shadows on empty streets. The storm is coming, we know it. We were told to prepare for it, to be ready at an instant's call. This is the way things always are, waiting for a storm that never comes.
Locked in from a mindset and environment. Forced to lived in closing walls and a blazing furnace, trapped in a shell with fleeting memories. Pressed against frost covered glass we frantically search the world for signs of life outside ourselves. A justification of existence, a reason to get up and patiently wait out our seasonal prison. Most instances it is merely a glimpse of a fellow prisoner, a shadow of their former selves, pressed against another pane and staring black with dead eyes. Upon occasion we spot a cat, or more appropriately a can't tail, high above the snow banks as it stalks for some unfortunate prey too small to be seen from frosted vantage points. The cat doesn't return a glance, more caught up in the moment then to bother with trivial details of who might be out there watching. This is the way things always are, cats don't really care about you.
With baited breath we mouth our psalms, preying in hope that the bleakness ends. We become spiritual purists, in mind, body and soul in the hope that atonement will bring an end to our incarceration. We find meaning in that everything is outside of our control, that invisible hands guide us. We give in to not having any real affect on our lives, with faith that what will be will be. If we are good, and do what we are told, we will eventually be rewarded with the new life, once again able to be free of constriction. All of our suffering will be justified, and we will be rewarded to fit our self rationalization of all things denied us. If we follow simple rules and act according to the guidelines as we interpret them, then the riches of spring will be ours to enjoy. This is the way things always are, Jehovah always lies.
The snow falls, in white sheets and uncaring intensity. It is of little matter to the snow what goes on in the earth below, as we stare off into the colorless horizon. It is on some rare occasions that a blur of color takes shape and form, life amongst the frigid barren plains. We see red, anger boils inside. How dare they? How could they? Don't they know that the storm is coming and the world is dark? What right do they have to frolic in the drifts, or strut around like the cat? There is no dancing on the ice, or hopping between snow flakes. This is not what I was told, not what I was promised. I did everything I thought I should, prepared and prayed, waiting for my time to come. Why should they get their's before me? This is the way things always are, not everyone fears the snow. |
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| Anime List Type Thing |
[Jan. 19th, 2009|07:28 pm] |
Totally stolen from Cassie and posted... cause I don't seem to post anything else.
Go through the list and check off the titles you have watched. For our purposes, "watching" a title means that for TV and OVA series, you have to have seen at least one episode. For one-shots, you have to have seen the whole thing. At the end of each genre/category, add up your sub-total. At the very end, add up the sub-totals to come up with your grand total. If your grand total is 80 or over, congratulations -- you are an obsessive anime watcher!
( The List! ) |
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| New Year Come Early |
[Dec. 31st, 2008|08:52 am] |
Fantasy Novelist Pratchett To Be A Sir
31 December 2008 4:10 AM, PST
Author Terry Pratchett has been left "totally astonished" after receiving a knighthood in the British New Year Honours list.
The writer, best known for his Discworld series of comic fantasy novels, has been awarded the honour for services to literature.
He has sold more than 55 million books worldwide, with many adapted for stage, TV and radio, since his first novel The Carpet People was published in 1971.
And Pratchett, who was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease in 2007, is delighted to receive the recognition from the British monarchy.
He tells U.K. newspaper The Times, "There are times when phrases such as 'totally astonished' just don't do the job. I am of course delighted and honoured and, needless to say, flabbergasted."
All I can say is fuck yea and bring me more Vimes. |
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| Importing Procrastination |
[Nov. 11th, 2008|07:51 pm] |
I have finally gotten around to importing twenty years worth of CD's into my iTunes, going all the way back to my California Raisins Motown compilation to the recent acquisitions from a friend of mine who was offloading his own vast music collection. These are of course what remains of the Great Joey Incident of 2004, which indeed I did lose some rare treasures, but there is nothing in this world that can not be replaced with some amount of effort.
In other news... I can finally see parts of my floor in the Great Laundry Excavation of 2008.
My carpet is this horrid beige, which was prevented from any sort of discoloration by the immense layers of clothing which rested on top. |
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| Immigrant's Dream |
[Nov. 5th, 2008|12:44 am] |
I live in the dream of my father and grandparents. My mom's parents lived with the inspiration of FDR, my parents and father's parents lived with the inspiration of JFK. I grew up in their shadows, hearing about history being made. On the guarantee that in America, anything is possible. That a child can grow up and do anything. Those are my father's eyes. Those are my grandfathers' dreams. It is that most holiest of rights of citizenship, to be a part of something bigger then themselves. To be a part of the political religion and go to the altar of the voting booth.
It is the right I take most sacred, in the years of listening to my grandparents talk of life in the old world. Of how things were in Russia and Poland, of life in the camps and the attempts to leave for a land of opportunity. It ingrained in me, this notion that having a voice in my government is a sacred act, something to hold dear to the heart and do with all valor and fervor once a year under November skies. In my own lifetime, its my third presidential election and tenth election as a whole. I felt something this time, that was lacking every time before when I drew the curtain and punched my card. For this time, it actually felt that I was a part of something greater then myself.
Growing up I saw the shadow of Reagan and the watershed effect it had for the next twenty-eight years. I grew up after the fall of Nixon, the inadequacy of Ford and Carter, the trials of H. W. Bush and Clinton. I've seen first hand the effects of W. Bush, some good but most of which were bad. Even with good intent, the center still falls. I've read the cries of generations lost, the prayers of citizens left silent. I know the speeches and rhetoric that moves men's souls and the world in which they created. I took all of this in, after years of learning and understanding of the world in which I live. I've become cynical to an age, an example of my years, yet in this election I did feel something that I had never felt before. I didn't have it in 2000 or in 2004, I didn't feel it until now, and until this moment never knew could exist in a world as hard and jaded as this.
I know what hope is.
I know why my grandparent's got on that ship way back when. I know why they came with my father on that little plain. I know what my family felt in rural Michigan during the Great Depression. I am the culmination of my grandparents' dreams. I am the embodiment of my parents' pride. I understand, for the first time, my connection to my country and what it truly means to be an American. How precious and sacred are rights are which where enshrined all those years ago, which were fought and bled over to protect and preserve. Of why we came and why we stayed. Of what was promised and what's been given.
The question of whether this hope remains is only one for time. I do not know if this glimmer of hope, of this feeling of optimism that I have for the future. I could wake up cynical in the morning, dragging ass to brew that first pot of coffee. What I feel tonight could easily fade, as I go back to a more mundane life of thought and notion. For tonight however, it stands strong. It runs in my veins and pulses my being. I scream calls of jubilee and cry tears of happiness. (Yea, ask anyone who was here tonight, tears fell which were soon followed by hysterical laughter.)
It truly is something new. Something not of my grandparents' lifetime.
I live history.
I breath the immigrant's dream. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 4th, 2008|12:21 pm] |
Go Vote.
It will make your nipples hard. |
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| Ahem. |
[Oct. 16th, 2008|05:28 pm] |
FUCK Joe the Plumber.
That is all. |
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| SPORE! |
[Sep. 10th, 2008|06:24 pm] |
Bagged and tagged it on Sunday and have been playing the crap out of it since.
So this begs to question, anyone else out there have it? If so, drop me a line so I can add you.
Now, more worlds to conquer. |
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| Enduced Insomnia |
[Jun. 25th, 2008|08:02 am] |
It's been a long while since I've pulled an all nighter, at least in the context of it being by choice. A necessary course of action, in preparation for this coming weekend, and the hope that it will in some way guarantee that I get some sleep tonight. I know full well, that it will be the only night of real slumber until Sunday, with futile attempts at napping occurring at interspersed breaks in the schedule. That is the unglamorous bastage of a life that is being a con staffer, full of mundane emergencies and drama induced tirades. Good times for certain.
Its not that I am apprehensive in any real certainty about this year, just the same general wondering of what ifs and plausibility, that bubble up inside until they explode into a sea of anxiety. Stress? Nah, never. Everything plot and planned is never two steps away from falling apart at the seems and crashing down into oblivion. That never happens. Ever. Scatter brained damage control is just a rumor, a whisper. Something echoed in back alleys in Bangladesh, which certainly can never crawl up into your spine and turn your nerve cluster into jell-o pudding.
All I can do is sit back and put it all into context. Eight years I've been doing this for anime cons, which is a long ass time when you think about it. Most the people I know now where still in high school... or well younger. I was wage slaving in Cinci and worked security for Sugoi. Eight years is a lot of people, in and out, every which way they can. There are only vague similarities to who I was then, and who I am now. The hair, was longer for one thing. I was still weighing about thirty pounds more than I am now, with a habit of wearing really bad silkscreen shirts. (They were atrocious the more I think about them.)
Had a very different social dynamic, that pretty much revolved around my mom's basement, the store at the mall I worked at and the University of Cinci Anime Club. That was it. That's all I knew, and for that matter, wanted to know. It was comfortable obliviousness, in that sort of Linus' security blanket sort of thing. I was quieter, more reserved. I lived more in the background and subplots of the world, shifting in and out of places with barely a notice. I pulled long nights for those first few Sugoi's cause it had to be done. Up until Charlie and Nate woke up, handing off the brick and then collapsing into a little ball until noon. Hell no one else did it, or was willing to for that matter. Then again, I loved night walking the con until the wee hours of the morning, drinking bad hotel coffee and watching the sun come up while having a smoke. I really didn't know anybody that well, didn't socialize with hardly a soul. Just went to do a job, did it and then went home. Such a different world then the one I now inhabit.
I got a lot of night owl stories from those years too, the sort of things most attendees and staff don't see, only hear about as tales told about the old days. I still have that hotel's layout embedded in my brain, countless circles around the atrium, down the hallways along the pool back to the boardrooms, with the last one on the right as OP's. Checking every door to make sure its locked, keeping your feet moving so you don't fall asleep. Over and over again, tracing over your steps countless times until dawn, with the radio nothing but dead silence. Well, not that dead really the first year. I met Aric, Latisha and Yad in OP's, and the radio chatter was entirely inappropriate with a large amount of time spent talking about the many uses of toilet paper.
That's what it was. The only things that are still the same are the coffee and cigarettes. It's what a sleepless night always gives you, nostalgia's wake. |
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| Mindless Fun |
[Jun. 13th, 2008|05:09 pm] |
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COMMENT AND I WILL TELL YOU WHAT FICTIONAL CHARACTER REMINDS ME OF YOU. THEN POST THIS IN YOUR JOURNAL. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 12th, 2008|03:34 am] |
Note to self:
Stop reading Shoah archives all night. |
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| Papal Bull |
[Dec. 22nd, 2007|04:39 pm] |
Dear World,
There are several things I would like to discus on behalf of my brain, which are of great concern to this time of the year. First off, I do not appreciate the way that for some reason this week is people's justification for acting like an ass hat for the other fifty-one weeks in the year. Just because it is the "time of the year" does not mean I will overlook you acting like a dick when you peed into the coffeepot behind the counter of Starbucks.
Nothing you can do in these coming seven days will undo the fact that you molested a drunk hippopotamus while wearing a Hitler mustache, while midgets played the Flight of the Bumblebees with their armpit orchestra. The truth of it all is, a smile and Happy Holidays just won't cut it here, even if you believe going into a building on a special night will wipe clean your slate for the year. Have you forgotten the other 364 nights when you went to another special building to forget, and picked up the transsexual Norwegian with a penchant for Gladiator movies while slamming down Jaeger shots and snorting lines of Drano off the bloated and pimpled ass of a paraplegic? Do these things no longer matter? I think not.
These so called holidays of yours have no consistency, and by all means are incredibly flawed with no universal benchmark in which to judge them. You have grouped together three holidays to "this time of the year" which are completely unrelated to the other and in no way represent the same thing. (i.e. Getting drunk on your uncles special eggnog and subsequently blowing him.) Just because some of you decide to celebrate the birthday of a little Jew, who may or may not have been born, on the incorrect date of all things, does not mean all of us do. I would appreciate you not involving me in your Jesus Day activities, or any of your reindeer games.
This Jesus mania has affected this time of the year in unprecedented ways, but I think the entire world did not get the memo on specific ways to throw their birthday party for Jesus. Most importantly, there seems to be a little confusion on the day itself, using several calendars that don't easily correlate to each other. You would figure if this birthday party is such a huge ordeal, that someone would of sent out the little cake invitations letting everyone know that the different party organizers, for simplicities sake, have decided upon "day X" to hold all festivities in honoring the day Jesus was born. This has not happened yet, and a large majority of the world seemed to have their invitations lost in the mail, especially those that currently own the house the child was born in. You would of course think that they above all else, should have gotten a little note saying "Jesus kegger tonight, Bingo tomorrow."
The Happy Birthday Jesus festivities confuse me, like the whole stance on gift giving. How is Jesus' Birthday designated as give gifts to everyone but Jesus day? Why should I feel compelled to go out of my way to buy presents, when those presents aren't even going to the lucky birthday boy? Even Jesus himself didn't get presents on his birthday, as seeing that the three Magi were about two years late according to the official documentation in correlation to other known historical records. They weren't even invited to the occasion, instead following a point of light in the sky which may have been nothing more then a drugged up hallucination following their sleepless coffee binges and opium hazed stargazing. They were astronomers after all.
All of this, as confusing as it is I can deal with. It is the rest of the birthday fun that I am still trying to wrap my head around. At what point was Jesus born in present day Germany, sprouted and then dangling from a pine tree? Did he pop out and enjoy a cold "Coca-Cola" while watching a bunch of Nutcrackers chase around a large, talking rat? Was the Sheppard watching over reindeer, while Clement Clarke Moore sat by the fire in a temporal time slip and penned at visit from St. Nicholas who was a Bishop from present day Turkey? How did the patron saint of children, sailors, fishermen, the falsely accused, pawnbrokers, repentant thieves and prostitutes become the symbol of another guys birthday bash? Was he the one that brought booze?
I just simply don't get it. I just like the decorations.
And the presents.
Sincerely,
Supplanter in the name of Jehovah, Rabbi. |
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| Remnants of a Prism Blanket |
[Dec. 18th, 2007|07:49 pm] |
Reality and I have a poor history together. I avoid it as much as possible, living in my own little world away from everything that causes me to bang nails into the floor with my forehead. My little brother is the same way, but after growing up with our parents and the years of countless stress and screaming, you really can't blame us. He and I are night and day in personality, yet our way of viewing the world, and everyone in it is a carbon copy of the other. We are the combined disappointment of wasted potential to our parents, but to ourselves we are simply happy.
Unfortunately, there is stress which screams and yells while it tries to break everything apart. It gives in to frustration and anger, to resentment and me going into full hermit mode wanting to cut all contact with the outside world. I loathe the petty games people play, and try and make it clear that none of them may enter this house under any circumstance. I don't want the drama of the world coming in here, because in the larger structure of things it bares no real importance or impact for no other reason than I really don't care.
I look at it in the same way I remember the relationships with the four ex-boyfriends of the apocalypse, who as I think back to them, truly do resemble the harbingers of the end times. They as a collective whole, liked to play games even after our breakups. Their attempts were incredibly pathetic, considering I have spent a lifetime of watching the games people play with each other, especially my parents and elders. All the more reason that I ignore what goes on in the world outside my walls, caring not for petty intentions of self designed schemes of control. They hold no real power nor influence, and are nothing more than parlor games to amuse worthless souls.
I have always been observant, with a keen intuition and a hyper-intellect that has knack for puzzles and enigmas. I can always figure things out, long before they are ever voiced by anyone concerned. I can read body language and inflection or words, and am able to match those to personality types to always see what is hidden. It all gives in to more frustration, watching them assault a wall with the feather duster they call a spear. They could lead entire regiments armed with cleaning supplies and it would still not matter, for the wall will still stand and even the dust will return to it.
Sadly they will never learn either, continually assaulting the barricade while their screams echo throughout the hills. I pity the futility of it, and tire from the perpetual barbarian maids at the gates. For some reason they have convinced themselves that their world will be better once that wall falls, failing to realize there will always be another wall, sometimes one that they had once built themselves. The only one true way to totally gain absolute victory, is mutually assured destruction, but that will never happen. Some are too invested while others simply just don't care. Complete and total apathy to any world which doesn't involve them, letting people continually make the same mistakes over and over again, the same screams being echoed by different voices.
I once cared and completely invested myself into other people. A continual state of altruism, rock solid with a set of humanistic ideals. No matter what came my way, I would always strengthen my resolve, dig my heels in and prepare for anything. I didn't believe that anything could ever change what I thought and what I felt. My eyes shined with the glow idealism as kept on trying to make the world a better place. Make the lives of those I cared about a better one, for no other reason then I could.
Then it happened, the one thing in this world that destroys ideals.
Time.
Time reveals the selfishness of other people, and no matter how much to try to help them, in the end they will spit it back in your face if it suits them. They care little for how you helped them, what you gave up so that they could gain. All you have is the wounds for the bullets you took for them, the remains of a shattered heart from their actions and an overwhelming hate that can and will eat you alive. I wasted years on other people, taking care of them and making sure they were happy. Almost a decade lost in time, to helping others who neither appreciated or cared enough to repay in kind. I was only a means to an end for them, and when something better came along or they had no further use for me, they were gone.
They are still gone.
The mallrat, the bishonen, the president and the diva. The hellions and rugrats, the geek and the slob. The Nigerian, the blue-blood, the comedian and the Canadian. The mall imps, the corporate lap dogs, the theater dweller and his wife. The rock, the mountain and the flailing pebble. The pontificater, the shell, the fox and the lion. The librarian and the historian, the eunuch and the basement dwellers. The art majors, the whores, the druggies and bookworms. The pink mafia and the lavender menace. The hetero in the attic, the angry gay in the van. The bulldyke ROTC's and their pet super twink. The uber gay, the acoustic lesbian, the emo lezzies and the Mexican.
All and more are gone, their memories gathering dust in the archives. Everything invested in them was for nothing, all the time wasted. My resentment is also my failure. I see every wound whenever I look in the mirror, have every memory when the world is quiet. I remember everything as it happened, there is no mystery here. Apathy is my only defense against the outside world, my only control being these walls I surround myself in. I am more cautious about those allowed inside, they are the family I will do anything for, no matter what the cost.
I still see everything from my hermitage, my lighthouse in the sea of storms. I am only found by those who seek me out, who only have that one intention for arrival here and they will always be met with all the hospitality I can muster. I, at least know where I am in everything. My own reality, my own world. It can and is how I want it to be, and I will protect it with my last breath. There will be no games here, I will not tolerate them in my presence. There will be no strife, malice of cruel intents, no backstabbing and betrayal.
I, am here. |
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| Ooooooo |
[Dec. 16th, 2007|03:59 pm] |
I Am A: Neutral Good Human Bard/Wizard (2nd/2nd Level)
Ability Scores:
Strength-13
Dexterity-15
Constitution-15
Intelligence-18
Wisdom-17
Charisma-18
Alignment:
Neutral Good A neutral good character does the best that a good person can do. He is devoted to helping others. He works with kings and magistrates but does not feel beholden to them. Neutral good is the best alignment you can be because it means doing what is good without bias for or against order. However, neutral good can be a dangerous alignment because because it advances mediocrity by limiting the actions of the truly capable.
Race:
Humans are the most adaptable of the common races. Short generations and a penchant for migration and conquest have made them physically diverse as well. Humans are often unorthodox in their dress, sporting unusual hairstyles, fanciful clothes, tattoos, and the like.
Primary Class:
Bards often serve as negotiators, messengers, scouts, and spies. They love to accompany heroes (and villains) to witness heroic (or villainous) deeds firsthand, since a bard who can tell a story from personal experience earns renown among his fellows. A bard casts arcane spells without any advance preparation, much like a sorcerer. Bards also share some specialized skills with rogues, and their knowledge of item lore is nearly unmatched. A high Charisma score allows a bard to cast high-level spells.
Secondary Class:
Wizards are arcane spellcasters who depend on intensive study to create their magic. To wizards, magic is not a talent but a difficult, rewarding art. When they are prepared for battle, wizards can use their spells to devastating effect. When caught by surprise, they are vulnerable. The wizard's strength is her spells, everything else is secondary. She learns new spells as she experiments and grows in experience, and she can also learn them from other wizards. In addition, over time a wizard learns to manipulate her spells so they go farther, work better, or are improved in some other way. A wizard can call a familiar- a small, magical, animal companion that serves her. With a high Intelligence, wizards are capable of casting very high levels of spells.
Find out What Kind of Dungeons and Dragons Character Would You Be?, courtesy of |
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| Wiki Wiki Meme |
[Dec. 11th, 2007|05:44 pm] |
1. Go to the Wikipedia home page and click random article. That is your band's name.
2. Click random article again; that is your album name.
3. Click random article 12 more times; those are the tracks on your album.
Band Name: Poly Styrene
Album Name: William Crawford Dawson
1. Figure skating at the 2003 Asian Winter Games
2. Laglio
3. Bob Lurtsema
4. Landis, North Carolina
5. Eclipse Island
6. List of state leaders in 1145
7. Ziziphus nummularia
8. Donnellson
9. Viz (disambiguation)
10. Lebanese Forces
11. Deliblatska Peščara
12. Maybell, Colorado |
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