Twilight Bound

10,000 Days

2009-01-10T15:17:00.002-05:00

Since my birth until today. I found it an auspicious date.

I was going to write up a song/poem about it, but this week's been busy and inspiration has been hard to come by. Maybe I'll put up another post with it.

In an unrelated note, I'm going to be much more careful with the things I say from now on.

In the meantime, I think I'll try and take some time to appreciate the wonders around us everyday.

The world is full of casual miracles.
-Neil Gaiman

Twilight out.

Close Encounters of the 9mm Kind

2008-12-11T10:57:00.004-05:00

So, as is the custom, I was over at Jon and Ruby's new place this past Saturday for a game of Shadowrun (and a brief run of a new, cool game called Puppetland before that). Hank had left to pick up his roommate, and we were in the midst of some inter-group roleplaying when we heard what sounded like fireworks. Five or six sharp cracks caused us all to look up from the table. Then, John and I felt a spray of drywall on our heads because a bullet had just shot through the wall.

We all hit the ground at this point, and Jon pulled out his cell phone to call 911. Someone suggested calling Hank to tell him not to come straight back, so went into the kitchen and called him up. We were all checking to make sure no one was hurt. Amazingly, no one was. We then stood up, a little confused and shaken, and decided to sit in their den until the police arrived. It took about 15-20 minutes until we heard sirens, at which point Ruby chanced a look outside. Then we all stepped out to see what had happened. Their neighbors were outside, as well, checking with other residents who had bullets come through their windows. I should point out that Jon and Ruby's apartment is on the back of the building, so the bullet had to come through an entire apartment first. Everyone we talked to was a little shaken, but amazingly, no one reported any injuries. The cop was checking the grounds and windows and told us we could go back inside and wait for him to come by for statements.

So we went back and put on some music (Wrath of the Lich King soundtrack). Jon and Ruby entertained us with stories from the Lich King expansion they had recently bought for World of Warcraft. Someone even pointed out that at least we hadn't entered combat yet in the Shadowrun game. It felt like a normal evening of hanging out with friends.

Another officer came by later to talk to Jon and Ruby. He asked why they had moved to the complex, and they told him it was because of rent. He then said they should consider moving back because it wasn't a safe area. Wonderful.

Anyway, we called Hank back and eventually got back to Shadowrun like nothing had happened, though I did push Jon to the side at one point because it was unsettling seeing him standing so close to the exit point of the bullet. I should note that when it came through, it was about six feet off the ground and about a foot to the left of where Jon was standing at the time. Meep.

Jon later told us that the cops figured it was gang-related and was actually the wrong building. There's also supposed to be a cop stationed there more often.

So, all in all, an exciting evening. Strange thing was, though I was surprised, I wasn't really freaking out about it. When we were walking to our cars, Hank even told me that I sounded unusually calm on the phone. I'm sure my mental state would have been a little different if things had been worse than they were.

And for that, I have only God to thank for His protection. He is great, even when we don't know it.

Twilight out.

Looking on the Dark Side of Life

2008-10-20T11:31:00.001-04:00

Forget your Happy Pills for a weekend and you rediscover some interesting things about yourself.

I was able to get by fairly well with just my anxiety meds until Sunday when the dizzy spells set in. Still, so far so good, until I finished with an impromptu phone call to Becky on the drive back from Denmark. Then the shit hit the fan.

I had learned during the talk that Becky and her husband Trevor didn't go to church, which didn't bother me of itself. What began to gnaw at me was the fact that I hadn't really known this before. I had guessed, of course, but never had any concrete basis for it. Becky and I have called ourselves kindred spirits before, and yet this important detail had escaped me? Clearly, we were not nearly as close as I had believed.

This, then, brought into question all of my relationships and the worth of pursuing any relationships in life. Who knows me? Who CAN know me? Do I carry around this cellphone for decoration, 'cuz it sure as hell doesn't get many calls. I began to see my search for close friendships at Radius as cute, but futile. Love and friendship? Happy delusions in a world that loves to see us crumble from disappointment.

Well, fuck you, too, Life. Fuck you.

And so the dark spiral descended until I was consumed once again by anger and despair and hatred. I knew it was the lack of medicine, so I tried to bear it until I could pick up the refill today. Still, it was trying. I thought with glee about this post, and all the violent, spiteful things I would be able to say. The heartbreak I could once again bemoan and blame on a world set against us. The malicious thoughts I could voice that were becoming ever more welcome in my mind.

TMI-filter:
Thankfully, I decided against writing a short poem about slitting the throats of infants and using their blood as paint.

Perhaps the most frightening thing, though, was the difference between how I was feeling now without medication and how I felt before I ever got on them. There were some similarities, like the causeless homicidal thoughts that I had to fight down. This time, however, I didn't feel demons pressing on my mind, trying to reach into my soul. No, it was almost like they were already there, pushing the crimson buttons of evil intent that I like to think lay dormant in me.

Suffice it to say, what happiness in everyday things I had known a few short days ago had vanished. In a weird way, though, it was intoxicating. I felt intense and dangerous, which is an unusual state for me. It was exciting, in a way, to know that you held a decreasing amount of control over yourself. That your gut reactions and desires guided your actions. Still, for someone as painfully reserved as me, this amounted to little more than letting myself spin out my tires in the Wal-Mart parking lot when I floored my accelerator pulling out from a parking space.

*sigh*

I've got the meds again, so all should be well. I will miss the loosened inhibitions, though. Especially the feeling that I could finally say what I meant to people, which is always so difficult for me to do for fear of being disliked for it. Maybe a healthy disdain for people is good? Heh, I know that's wrong, but I'm still in a dark enough mood not to give a good Goddamn.

Also, my dreams the past few nights have been very vivid and interesting. I'll miss that.

In other news, I think I'm finally starting to get over Kaysha for good. Only took me a year, right? God, I am so weak and pathetic. Turns out that trying to keep up with someone who went from I Love You's to talking to you only out of necessity wasn't the smartest move. I still can't bear to hear people mention Asheville, either. Yes, its an attractive, fun city, and yes, I'm sure the leaves are beautiful. It'll still be a long while before I can consider going there without thinking of her and how much it hurts to do so.

Anyway, here's to getting my mind back in order. One day I will probably regret the things I've said here. Here's to brutal honesty, I guess.

I am still worried, though, about how natural it felt to be so angry and hateful. I have been fairly happy of late, though never content. I am always under the self-imposed pressure to go out and do something, to make my life worthwhile by action and accomplishment. Then, I settle in every night with the shame of knowing I failed miserably to give my days any meaning. I realize there is fault with this thinking, but it has always felt so... reassuring to be a subject of self-pity. Even with my medication, I tend to forsaken the pleasures of enjoying and exploring life for the belief that I might get more attention by bemoaning it, even when there is much to celebrate.

I think, perhaps, it would be good to end with a quote stolen from a friend's Facebook page:

"Life is not about finding yourself. It is about creating yourself."
-George Bernard Shaw

Time to shake it off and start a new draft.

Twilight out.

A Spoonful of Evening

2008-08-21T13:53:00.001-04:00

My internal chronometer tells me I'm posting this two weeks late. That's when I started to type it out, at least. It's been unusually difficult to get myself to sit down and type the rest out. I seem to have some reluctance to being quiet and still. Almost as if I'm afraid of what it would be like to face myself without distractions. My thoughts have always been jumbled. Now, though, I start to wonder if maybe I spent more time in earnest meditation, I couldn't sort through them a bit and maybe calm the stresses I subject myself to.

Its amazing, in a way, how I can let stress runaway from me and become its own vile entity. Oftentimes I'll be out of sorts for hours or days and then something will happen, a conversation or just a simple pleasantness, and I'll realize that I could have simply turned my thoughts away from the stress whenever I wanted. It had been my active maintenance of the foul mood that kept it alive. The same goes for many other states of mind. Wonder, boldness, enthusiasm. How many ways of meeting the world do I fail to achieve simply because I accept that they must come to me unbidden, like a spiritual dawn? From where would such a sun rise, after all? I wonder (and know that I'm not the first to do so) if many foul moods are not really an exaggerated form of self-pity. I am, after all, quite an expert at that.

I ramble, though. I have told Jeromie there would be an update on my internal affairs, so let me move on to the things that have happened in my life of late.

I should speak first of what happened at the small group before last. As usual, I drove over with stresses on my heart. Which, again as usual, were lighter when I left. This time, however, there was something more. During the discussion, I was struck with a sudden thought. It was the understanding that we are to die to ourselves and suffer for Christ. Its a teaching I have long known, but mainly on a cerebral level. This felt like my soul itself was waking up and realizing that things were expected of it. It was, in a word, terrifying.

I was reminded immediately of C.S. Lewis when he said that both Heaven and Hell warn the Christian to think well upon the consequences before he commits himself to the Gospel. I recoiled from it, expecting to be crushed under such awful weight. At the same time, I asked God in my heart to give me courage, offering Him my weak acceptance of such an obligation. It was so strong that I could almost believe that if I gave my consent, my pride itself would be pierced then and there to make room for obedience. I knew I needed it, but I didn't want it.

The feeling has waned since then, as is often the way with things of the heart untended. It is my shame that I have kept such internal distance, but my relief that I can still feel it -feel Him- reaching out. Its not what I would consider a call, since it is too abstract for that. Its more like a conviction. And yet I still feel so dirty and base and evil. I still sin while screaming in my head to stop. Yet, for a few moments last night after my last small group for a while, I felt like I could follow wherever I was lead, that I could let go of my fear and shame. It was a wonderful moment with some great guys.

This is the first I have spoken to anyone about it. Its also been the first chance I've taken to set it down in words. I had not thought myself such a coward. Got be praised, though, there is time and grace to grow brave.

Another thing that has encouraged this peculiar sentiment is reading "The Heavenly Man," an account of Chinese Brother Yun. Born in Henan Province in China, he becomes a Christian as a boy and begins to spread the Gospel across China. He is persecuted by the government and arrested several times. The recounts of God providing visions to believers and protecting Yun during his persecution, in addition to his miraculous escape from one prison, have served to bolster my own faith. Reading of the complete devotion of the Chinese church to serving God despite constant danger and hardship has also made me realize how easy believers here have it. Recommended reading.

On a side thought, I was watching a girl throw up her hands during a praise song in church today and started to wonder if it there was a greater propensity for exuberance among female believers than male. Sexist? Fallacy? Chastisement and opinions, please.

As to the title of this post, on Saturday of last week I was feeling stress from many areas. The conviction, worry over finding a job, doubts over my future, disappointment in what I've done with my life so far, and so on. I needed to get out. So I took a stroll through the nearby state park. I mused on the forest, drawing analogies for life against the trees. I watched the evening sky twinkling through the leaves like stars of twilight. I called Jeromie to share the renewing of my peace, but had to leave a message. I walked. I stared at the forest canopy and the sky beyond. I breathed.

I felt... good.

Huh.

Oh, yes. It looks like I finally have an internship. It will be at the SC Assistive Technology Program doing all sorts of web and tech stuff. The call for the interview came out of the blue. Ironically, while I was offering a prayer of repentance to God. He does provide.

Well, I'm sure there's more I could say, but that's enough "emotional whoring," as it were, for one post.

Twilight out.

An Ode to WALL-E

2008-07-07T15:28:00.002-04:00

or "On the Courtship of a Mac and PC"

It's become an unfortunately rare occurrence when a Pixar movie really touches me. So often the films they produce are pretty, meticulously detailed, yet somehow bland. My reigning favorite is the Incredibles, and it is to this standard that I hold all their releases. I can't say that WALL-E has usurped that spot, as it had many shortcomings that I won't go into, but they both have one thing in common: an overabundance of heart.

I can't write this as a comparison between the two, as they are obviously different types of movies. The Incredibles is about a family coming to terms with itself, while WALL-E is an old-fashioned love story. That, alone, is enough to raise it past its brethren, as I am a sucker for a good romantic yarn. Its why I cherished the classic Disney movies and one reason I have such fondness for anime over Western cartoons.

Just to clarify, I have immense respect for Pixar, and look forward to each of their movies. Their attention to detail alone is incredible, and their storytelling is extremely tight. That being said, I must additionally applaud them for choosing to take on the unusual topic of robot love. Being a fan of anime, as mentioned, romance involved artificial beings is not a new concept to me. In almost all the stories I've seen, however, said beings were human in design, making it easier for the audience to relate to them.

WALL-E, however, is a box. EVE is an inverted teardrop. Here we have no strong, handsome man to admire. No sweet, pretty girl to swoon over. These are machines. You don't expect to sympathize with a hunk of steel or an oversized plastic fishing lure. And yet we do.

Our relation to such characters is built from the ground up. The first thing to do was give them faces, which let them emote. EVE's eyes are are cartoonish yet cute, while WALL-E is quite literally wide-eyed with wonder at the world. Other small details add to the effect. EVE's digital face flickers when her expression changes drastically, and WALL-E has eyebrows that raise, as a person's, in surprise.

Then there are the voices. Most of the time their dialog seems taken from a poorly written romance where the characters scream each other's names back and forth. Indeed, you will hear "wall-e" spoken A LOT. Again, though, we come back to the fact that we're dealing with true robots here. If they were to have full conversations, that would humanize them. So, instead, we have them latching on to identifications and letting gesture and context convey the major part of what they're trying to say.

When it comes down to it, though, EVE made this movie for me. As far as the vocalizations, I loved hearing the different ways she could say WALL-E, each with its own meaning and emotion. Even with its digital effects, they managed to keep the femininity of the voice actress behind her. Plus, EVE as a character was an interesting mix. She was serious, strong, and duty-bound, yet still playful enough to become fascinated with WALL-E. I think they made a sweet pair, and that's what carried it all.

And so, as a last tribute to WALL-E, I offer up an image that I found on DeviantArt that depicts what the two of them might look like as people...

So, I guess that's it. I definitely plan to see it again, along with Hancock, the Hulk, and Hellboy 2.

Oh, and I hope everyone had a great 4th of July. Mine was a blast, which lots of partying and wet antics on the Edisto River. I even learned that I'm not too shabby at Flip Cup and Beer Pong. Woo-hiccup-hoo!

Twilight out.

I'm a Pretty Princess!

2008-06-25T14:16:00.003-04:00

Jeromie recently posted a visual summary of his blog through Wordle that he heard of by way of his friend Justin. I thought it was a very neat service, but wasn't going to follow suit. That is, until I plugged in the entirety of my blog and got this...

This just goes to show the effect that not giving your characters proper names can have. I honestly thought that Twilight would be more prominent, since I close every post with it. There are some good tidbits in the smaller text, too. "Kaysha Magic Eyes" is a wonderful title, "magical love" is cute, and I think "weekend wanted" resonates with everyone. Sadly, God is small and at the edge. Next to Arnold. Huh.

Of course, if you take the lead of my blog's name and apply a duality of meaning here, it could say that I am, on one strange hand, some kind of gender-confused Princess, but on the other, more agreeable hand, on a constant search for one.

Forsooth, friends.
Forsooth.

Twilight out.

The Cross Before the Crown

2008-06-19T21:26:00.007-04:00

Can something be called a passion when you are afraid to pursue it?

Well, I started this post last Friday, and now I finish it up a week later. Fitting for me, I suppose.

Last week was quite... interesting. Things started off well on Tuesday with a vibrant thunderstorm after classes. The rain was thick, the wind was heavy, and the sky was alive with lightning. Once I made it to my car, I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes just watching the lightning dance between clouds. While driving home, I began to notice that places had lost electricity. Soon enough, I was in an entire section of Columbia without electricity. The only light came from the lightning and the headlights passing with greater caution than normal. Driving through intersections without traffic lights was terribly exciting. Unfortunately, the storm only lasted the night, and the rest of the week was bright and sunny.

On Wednesday, I decided to try out the men's small group at Radius (which is one of two small groups, to my knowledge, the other being for ladies. Le sigh). It was the kickoff of a new book, one I happened to have read before(though can no longer remember): Don't Waste Your Life, by John Piper. We watched a sermon of his on a DVD that came with the leader's copy. I must say, it was powerful. I have forgotten about his ideas of seeking Christ first as your treasure in life, so it was something of a wake-up call. Of course, I have a powerful snooze-button instinct. Though convicted, I knew that it would take a lot for me to truly change my ways and turn my self-service to the pursuit of Christ. So, here's hoping. The downside is that its a twenty-minute drive, and with gas prices what they are, it is a bittersweet outing.

I went back this past Wednesday for a discussion on chapter 1 (even though I don't have a copy; gave it away in Senegal), and the discussion was great. I was one of the more talkative ones, actually. For whatever reason, theology can get me going. One guy expressed his amazement that Christians, who know Christ's worth, could choose things other than Him to follow. I was compelled to point out that practice was much harder than theory when it comes to how we live. I think it's a good group, so I think I will (hesitantly) keep going.

If so, then how does one kill fear?

Thursday was... a different kind of day. While sitting in class, working on a Visual Basic program, unwelcome thoughts filled my head. The suspicion that despite what I was doing at Midlands, it wouldn't help me in getting a job. The uncertainty about whether I was capable of leading a successful life. The disgust at continually being a loser. The terror of never, ever being worth anything... except pity. I might have shuddered.

When I got home, I felt the need to wash it off. So I got my MacBook and loaded up a DCF sermon I hadn't listened to yet. Specifically, the one from March 23, "The End of All That is Death." I listened, stressed and disturbed, in a dark kitchen with a quick turkey sandwich for dinner. Then, I heard this: "Do you feel death in your own heart whenever fear will not loosen its grip; when the accusing voice will not SHUT. UP.; when your emptiness will never leave you alone; when your joy stays with you only long enough to tease you and remind you of how much you want to experience in your life but you just... aren't?" Words spoken for many, but in that dark moment, crafted for me.

They continued. "Death is not the end, evil is not the end, destruction is not the end, your sin is not the end, the pain you see in the world is not the end." I teared up at these. You mean... I don't have to live in fear? I can be... happy? At peace? Surely not! Could such hope truly exist?!
And why, why is this so foreign to me? Have I let myself slide so far that I can't even see the incline anymore? Where is my resolve?

Through all of this, I have a growing appreciation for the damage self-pity and over-inflated sense of drama can do to one's self-esteem. Having recently finished the most excellent A Sense of the World, I am left with the image of a man who let nothing hold him back, not even the loss of his sight. Instead, he traveled the world, wrote acclaimed books, and lived a life that left no regrets. Now I am reading The Heavenly Man, about Chinese Brother Yun. Learning about his tribulations as he grew into a leader of the Chinese house church makes me feel ashamed for my luxuries. Yet seeing his joy in Christ through all of it makes me sad for what I've let myself become.

And what else must die with it?

And now the present. Another delightful storm front has recently moved in. I went out to a nearby soccer field earlier this evening to try and catch some pictures of the lightning as it struck. I was even goading the sky on at the end. Alas, the two pictures of lightning I managed to get are blurry from me jerking the camera towards the strikes.

Oh, and my brother bought an iPod Touch this past week for his mission trip to Mexico next week. I helped him get all our collective music onto it, and I must say, it is one sexy little piece of hardware. There seems to be a problem finding artwork for the albums, most of whom are ripped from CDs. It makes the 'browse-by-flipping-through-album-covers' feature kind of pointless. Thanks, iTunes, for punishing those who don't get their music through you.

One last little bit of irony: N.T. Wright, author of Surprised by Hope was on the Colbert Report Thursday night. It was one of two books that soon-to-be-former DCF pastor Winn Collier chose for the initial run of his book club. I haven't read any of his recommended readings yet, due mostly to not wanting to lay down the money for them. I must check out those "library" things.

Pun definitely intended.

Twilight out.

Published

2008-05-16T19:07:00.003-04:00

Greetings.

If you happen to be so inclined next time you frequent a book store, you might want to look through a copy of Lake Murray Columbia. Check the table of contents, and you'll find my name down in the sketches section.

Its not much, but I hope it signifies the next step on a journey of writing. I shall see what the Fates have to say on that.

Twilight out.

A Most Terrifying Morning

2008-04-13T21:53:00.002-04:00

During the extended Shadowrun session on Friday night, I began shivering. It was odd, since I wasn't particularly cold and hadn't started to feel bad. I was still shivering on the rather late drive home, and took some Ibuprofen before I went to sleep for good measure. Turns out my guess was dead-on, but what happened to me next was not something I expected.

As I said, it was late when I got to bed, so I was surprised when I woke up a mere two hours later when the morning was still grey. As awareness dawned, I realized that something else was wrong, but it was in my mind. Its not the first time illness has wreaked havoc with my already-unstable mental scales, but this was something new and dreadful.

The best analogy of what I felt is if you imagine yourself in the Matrix and then imagine that you are aware of it being the Matrix. You are in a completely believable, sensible world, but you know beyond a doubt that its not real. This is the feeling that bombarded me. It wasn't a passing thought, or a weird sensation, it was an alien, absolute certainty. And I didn't want it. It was like something was forcing this sense of things on me, and I was too weak to resist. I buried my head in pillows. Then my hands. I paced. I called to God for help. The terror I felt was something I hadn't experienced since I was in middle school. Not being able to trust your own mind is, perhaps, my greatest fear. And now, new ones arose in me. If I stayed like this, I couldn't be sure that I would allow myself to live out a normal life. Then, I began to suspect that my OCD was developing into something much worse. Something like Capras Syndrome, where a person believes everyone they know has been replaced by duplicates (and which I researched for a Deliria character).

So I did the only thing I could. I took more of the medicine I had plus some sleeping pills, put some Celtic music on headphones, and tried to go back to sleep. I hoped it was just illness and the strain of fatigue that was affecting my faculties. Again, I guessed right. I awoke without the terrible illusion, but still sick. The rest of Saturday was spent lethargic and in a quite substantial funk. One pleasant result of the mornings assault was the new detachment I felt from the world, like I was given a higher perspective on my life. It was nice.

Its strange, but part of me actually likes being moderately sick. Not Flu sick, but just sick enough that lying down with a blanket and wet washcloth on your forehead can make you feel oh so good. Note to Karma: I am not asking to get sick again. Just so we're clear.

At any rate, I was fully over it this morning. I went back to Radius Church, as I've come to think they might be a good choice for me, DCF heritage and all. I managed to get myself to talk to more people, and even got invited out to lunch with a group followed by watching the Masters with some of the fellows. One of the guys was even from Denmark. What's more, I got a business card from one of the guys who ran his own business and was interested in copywriting. Score!

Still, the whole time we were watching, I was filled with an unnatural but not uncommon anxiety. When I got back home, I took an extra anxiety pill. When that didn't help much, I took an extra pill for OCD. (Extra in relation to my own personally-prescribed dosage). Then, when that still didn't take my edge off, I took a Xanax, which is more powerful and immediate anxiety relief, but of shorter duration (and really good stuff, lemme tell ya).

I know, I know. Its dangerous to rely on pills so much. But sometimes positive thinking and bombarding oneself with distractions only does so much. I got quite fed up with it, actually. I screamed out to God (the house was empty), asking why I was given this burden and what He wanted from me. I don't know if it was part of an answer, but after my shouting, I looked to my side where sat "A Sense of the World." Its the book I borrowed from Jeromie and Liz that chronicles the life of James Holman, a British sailor in the 19th century who was inexplicably struck blind at a young age and became, as the subtitle says, "history's greatest traveler." It made me smile. Still, I hesitate to say things like, "And God told me...". After all, how can I be sure that it's not just my own mind prompting me with words that I need and want to hear? Would that not be idolatry?

Anyway, that's my weekend drama. It warranted a post, even if the terror of that Saturday morning is thankfully fading. On a more obscure note, there was an announcer in the Masters whom I thought to be Scottish (though after a while I couldn't say for sure if he wasn't Irish, instead). Every time I heard him speak, I thought of how it would sound if said by a Scottish woman, and it sent shivers down my spine. I have GOT to visit that country one day soon. And Ireland, too, for good measure.

Oh, and check out Jeromie's Blog for the rather impressive stop-animation movie he made with Liz.

Twlight out.

Simple Times

2008-03-31T12:37:00.000-04:00

So, I ran in my first 5K this past weekend. It was the President's Race for the Library or something up in Clemson and I ran with Liz, Jeromie, and their friends. I did better than I thought, finishing at 33:36 and only having to walk for five minutes of that. I expected to be running and walking repeatedly. I suppose I'm starting to enjoy this running thing. It's all about taking it in steps (pun intended).

While I was up there, Jeromie talked to me about his idea for the DCF Film Festival. He's going to try for some stop-motion animation with chalk sketches and his digital SLR. I can't wait to see how it turns out. I had wanted to submit something to it a couple years ago, and I again am bitten by the same bug. I don't think I'll make it for the Festival, but I cobbled together an idea I like, so I think I'll try my hand once again at some animation.

They've moved to Central to be closer to their friends before they leave for seminary in Denver sometime in that Autumn/Late Summer time. I like their house, and especially the fact that their friends the Calbaughs live on the second story. I've always been partial to the idea of living in walking distance of your friends, so that one could have impromptu visits or dinners on a whim. I hate how much structure and rigidity finds its way into our lives. Heck, there's a lot I hate about life, but I've decided not to dwell too much on that stuff, and certainly not pester my readers with it. It only makes me unhappy and weak to overthink things, so I must start to exercise greater mental discipline.

I look forward to visiting Jeromie and Liz much more before they have to leave, and to get us all down to Charleston for a great group weekend with Arnold, Beth, and Hope sometime soon. For all the things changing, I'd like to believe there are some that won't. Like these dear friendships.

Twilight out.

Long Way to Go

2008-02-13T17:51:00.005-05:00

My God, thank you for sending your Son, even though I don't understand it,

My God, thank you for loving me, even though I don't deserve it,

My God, thank you for your Grace, even though I don't accept it.

That was the prayer I uttered in my head while I lay shivering last week under the throes of the flu. It was a beseeching prayer, and an honest laying out of how I feel most of the time. Which, of late, has included a lot of bitterness and anger at a lot of different things, myself included.

I have finished "A Severe Mercy," and it was beautiful. The letters by C.S. Lewis became a secondary motivation as I was drawn further and further into Vanauken's account and his thoughts.

Once Davy was diagnosed with a terminal illness that no-one could identify (not even at the time the book was written), they both tried to make the best of what time they had left. One of the things that warmed me most was how much time and effort Davy spent with other patients, talking to them and just brightening their day. Even the nurses, it seems, were encouraged by her cheerfulness. Everyone at the hospital became so fond of her that the doctors refused payment for her treatment, even as Vanauken was making arrangements for a loan. She had done too much for them already, they had said. It made me think of how wonderful it would be to meet a woman like that, but it also made me realize how much time I spend wasted on worry and despair. Why is it so hard to be thankful for the life given to me, and why is it so easy to sink into dark thoughts about money and work?

As befits this story, and as Vanauken had prayed for, Davy did not pass in pain or in a coma. She slipped away fully awake with Vanauken by her side, holding her hand and bidding her farewell. She told him, "Look!" before she was gone, though Vanauken hadn't felt like he should ask her what she saw, as it would ruin the last mysterious moment.

He fully embraced his grief. He went through all the writings and photos that he had of their time together, diving into the love and longing they brought him. He also came to some realizations that echoed with some of my thoughts.

During their life together, they had sought moments of "timelessness." To them, they were experiences filled with such beauty, joy, and freedom that when they looked back on them, they couldn't fully discern how much time had passed during them. They did not like the hurried quality of everyday life, and always had dreams of pursuing their own place, where timelessness was more welcome.

I, too, have dreamt of such a life, where time doesn't matter as much. I have also felt the sting of time's flow, in that things are always passing away. The events I enjoy will end, and even the ones still to come will become memory. All is fallen into dust; nothing lasts. For some things, this can be a relief, but it still fills me with a certain despair and helplessness.

But why? Vanauken wondered why Davy and he should have sought so desperately for timelessness, and I wonder why the slipping away of life disturbs me so. Why, when we are creatures embedded in time, do we feel so uncomfortable with it? Is it, perhaps, not our true environment? Is it something we were not meant for? Are we, in the end, made for eternity?

In time, Vanauken lost the feeling of Davy's presence with him and found peace with what C.S. Lewis called the severe mercy of Davy's death. Had she not died, they both reasoned, Vanauken's jealousy of God's place in her life would have ruined them both. Now the jealousy was gone, and Vanauken found peace. I don't know if he is still alive, but I know that he never remarried, instead living his life with the knowledge that Davy would wait for him. As Lewis had said to them in parting one evening in Oxford, "Christians NEVER say goodbye!"

So, that's that. This was one of those rare books that I feel better and broader in spirit for having read it. I have not been reading very diligently of late, and I feel that must change. There are many other things I feel, in varying degrees at various times. One thing I feel too seldom is gratefulness. I have much to be thankful for, and much that keeps my life from truly dark times. I should smile more. I should laugh more. I shouldn't be so hard on myself. My life is worth more than guilt for all the things I haven't done or have failed at. It is also worth more than to be filled with bitterness and resentment.

Or so I tell myself, hoping one day to believe it.

If I have learned anything from the story of the Vanaukens, it's that life is unpredictable. And that God is wild, but good.

P.S. - Whoever reads this blog, keep Jeromie's dad in your thoughts. His heart acted up recently, and he could use prayers or considerations.

Twilight out.

Severity and Timidness

2008-01-18T01:38:00.000-05:00

First week of classes down. Whoo. Doesn't look like anything will be particularly difficult, and I'm looking forward to the Java class. Finally, my induction into programming!

I have decided to try running again in preparation for a little 5K up in Furman that I hope to run with Liz and Jeromie in March(or at least Jeromie, who has provided me with a low-impact training regimen designed to prepare oneself for running events). I have a new MP3 player loaded with techno to listen to while I run, now all I need is some sweatpants. Cuz, you know, it's cold. Hopefully I can stick to this, and finally discover exactly what the "Runner's High" is all about.

Most of you were there for the New Years party, so I needn't describe what happened. I will offer my immense thanks for making the effort and the drive to attend. It was wonderful, and I even felt a little lonely after the fact. Such get-togethers shall definitely have to be replicated. Maybe... with chili!

I have been slowly reading through "A Severe Mercy." Mostly because I am extremely skilled at finding 10 things to distract me from any given task. Still, I have gotten through the chapters on their conversion to Christianity at Oxford, and I find myself, again, wistful. The author talks about how the friends they made were not only by and large Christian, but also highly intelligent (which makes sense for people attending Oxford). He describes conversations bouncing from physics to poetry to natural law, but all with the certitude of faith. His wife, Jean (or Davy as she was called by the author), came to her belief by a more personal emotional path, and he noted how she threw herself into it once she had 'made the leap.'

Vanauken(I continue to use his last name), on the other hand, took a more cerebral approach, and thus was plagued by doubts and a need for certainty before he committed. And even though his reasoning found the claims of Christ 'very probable,' he admitted that he faced a paradox. He put it thus in a letter to C.S. Lewis, "I can't believe in Christ unless I have faith, but I can't have faith unless I believe in Christ." Lewis, in turn, dismissed the weight of his paradox as little more than circular reasoning, and opined that people are not so inclined to faith only after proof as Vanauken thought, "I demand from my friend a trust in my good faith which is certain without demonstrative proof. It wouldn't be confidence at all if he waited for rigorous proof."

What also moved me was the image of Oxford that Vanauken painted. He and Davy got a shabby little flat that was on the way to the college, so their friends would often stop by unannounced. Indeed, this was a part of Oxford and England that they adored. They had so many visitors so often that he said there was almost always a knock at the door on any given day. That is something that appeals to me greatly. A community that actually communes, and not by some rigid formality or arrangement. Just by... dropping in.

When they returned from England, I almost felt the washing away of vitality in faith when he described how the Virginian believers seemed so holy and devout, yet oftentimes would live without a full understanding of Christ's teachings, and certainly not the same vivacity as their friends from England. I also felt a guilt, as I often fall into that category.

Yet perhaps the most poignant part of the Virginia story was where Vanauken described his hesitance to commit himself as wholly to Christ as Davy had....

"I wanted - what did I want? I wanted the fine keen bow of a schooner cutting the waves with Davy and me - just Davy and me and Flurry (their dog) - happy and loving and comradely on her decks. Well, there was nothing unChristian about that, as long as God was there, too, and as long as we were neglecting no service of love. But, though I wouldn't have admitted it, even to myself, I didn't want God aboard. He was too heavy. I wanted him approving from a considerable distance. I didn't want to be thinking of him. I wanted to be free - like Gypsy (their dog who had run away). I wanted life itself, the color and fire and loveliness of life. And Christ now and then, like a loved poem I could read when I wanted to. I didn't want us to be swallowed up in God. I wanted holidays from the school of Christ. We should, somehow, be able to have the Shining Barrier intact and follow the King of Glory. I didn't want to be a saint. Almost none of this did I consciously know - just longings."

Oh, how well I understand that. In my thoughts, I know that my purpose and freedom from doubt and fear lie in obedience to God... but deep down, I want my own freedom. I hold my piece of the Apple up against the memory of Eden and think how noble it is, how great the insatiable human spirit. Ah, but it is all folly, yet a folly so hard to pull away from.

I am come now to the tragedy of the story. Yet I think I begin to grasp the title of the book. You see, a few months prior to her terminal diagnosis, Davy prayed for Vanauken. She offered up her life so that he might come fully into faith. A severe gesture, but one also laced with mercy. The mercy or grace that Davy might give her life for the greatest and dearest of services: saving the soul of the man she loved, and the grace laid upon Vanauken, that he might come into the strength of faith he desired but found so difficult to accept by the humble sacrifice of an unbreakable love .

Twilight out.

A Severe Mercy - the Heights

2007-12-20T13:30:00.000-05:00

In the years leading up to World War II, Sheldon Vanauken met Jean Davis and the two quickly fell in love. It was a deep love that the two were determined not only to maintain, but to prosper. They were married not long after, and after a brief bout with the Navy at Pearl Harbor, they went to Oxford. There, during their exploration of Christianity as non-believers, they met C.S. Lewis.

And then Jean died.

Lewis, through correspondence with Vanauken, helped him through the tragedy of his loss, but I haven't gotten that far in the book I'm reading right now, "A Severe Mercy." Right now, I am cherishing the accounts of how these two people met, how they loved, and how they intended to protect their love. I will come shortly to the loss of Jean, but right now I am enjoying the tale of their storybook love. Vanauken himself accepted that the greatest heights must always risk the most dreadful depths, and, oh, to what heights they rose.

One thing that strikes me is how much I think I would have enjoyed meeting these two people. They loved literature and poetry, and living in a world before television left them with lots of time to read the works of many authors and poets. They also lived in a rural area of New England and spent much of their time together taking long walks by farms and fields or simply lounging next to a lake or beneath of grove of trees. In addition, one of their first points of connection was their mutual understand of how beauty can hurt. Having read Lewis's account of his exploration of joy and having experienced my own moments where I beheld something so beautiful that I was filled with a painful longing, I knew that we would have been able to connect. They were romantics, and ones dedicated not only to each other, but to their love itself. Indeed, Vanauken wrote "this book is, after all, the spiritual autobiography of a love rather than of the lovers."

Through their discussions, the couple tried to analyze why relationships went wrong and what they could do to prevent that from happening. When they began discussing the prospect of marriage, they decided on many things, such as not having children (which helped to endear them further to me, even though I entertain the prospect for myself in the distant future), restricting the pursuit of possessions, and of having total trust between one another as a remedy to jealousy. "If that trust were ever violated, even the least bit, then a quick end; for trust could never be restored," said Vanauken.

Some of you may find their decisions a little extreme, but that's part of what drew me in. The idea of two people willing to make such extreme demands on themselves in order to perfect a love was inspiring.

Their next great decision took the form of revelation. In trying to decipher what was the secret of enduring love, they came upon the idea of sharing everything with one another. "If one of us likes anything, there must be something to like in it - and the other must find it. Every single thing that either of us likes. That way we shall create a thousand strands, great and small, that will link us together. Then we shall be so close that it would be impossible - unthinkable - for either of us to suppose that we could ever recreate such closeness with anyone else. And our trust in each other will not only be based on love and loyalty but on the fact of a thousand sharings - a thousand strands twisted into something unbreakable."

And this they did. Afterwards, they named their decision to share everything with one another the Shining Barrier. It was the protection of their love against a "world where love did not endure." They then came to see separateness as another danger to love. Not doing things together. The 'us' of love becoming two 'I's. So they dedicated themselves to doing everything together. Self became to them 'the ultimate danger to love.' They decided that children would further this separateness, and reaffirmed their decision not to have them. As for a career, neither would allow one that would dominate their lives unless it allowed them to pursue it together. They also decided that should one die, the other would follow them shortly, such as taking a plane up in the air and crashing it down into the earth.

Having made such dramatic decisions about their relationship, and being strong-willed people, they would often argue. But this, too, demonstrated Vanauken's idea of 'the heights and the depths,' as every battle would be followed with a tender reconciliation. They even had a biweekly or monthly "Navigator's Council", which was a review of how the relationship was doing. Whatever decisions or changes had to be made were decided upon in the light of what would be best for their love.

They ultimately decided that the best life for them, at least for a while, would be on the sea in their own yacht. They would take the different ports as they chose, fish while at sea, write about their travels, and get jobs in whatever towns they wound up in to pay for supplies. It was a grand romantic fantasy, and I grinned while reading it.

So... I like it. They hardly seem like real people in many places, which is probably why I it touches me so much. I enjoy the fairy-tale quality of what they did, and the sheer fact that they did it. Next comes the tragedy. If what I've read so far is any indication, it will be beautiful and heart-breaking.

This was a poem they wrote together to sum up their feelings on their relationship and their 'Shining Barrier':

This present glory, love, once-given grace,
The sum of blessing in a sure embrace,
Must not in creeping separateness decline,
But be the centre of our whole design.

We know it's love that keeps a love secure,
And only by love of love can love endure,
For self's a killer, reckless of the cost,
And loves of lilactime unloved are lost.

We build our altar, then, to love and keep,
The holy flame alight and never sleep:
This darling love shall deepen year by year,
And dearer shall we grow who are so dear.

The magic word is sharing: every stream,
Of beauty, every faith and grief and dream;
Go hand in hand in gay companionship-
In sober death no sundering of the grip.

And into love all other loveliness,
That we can tease from love we shall impress:
Slow dawns and lilacs, traceries of the trees,
The spring and poems, stars and ancient trees.

This splendour is upon us, high and pure,
As heaven: and we swear it shall endure,
Swear fortitude for pain and faith for tears,
To hold our shining barrier down the years.

I don't think I will do a Year in Review for 2007. I mean, it would be pretty short: I fell in love, Charleston didn't work out, I moved to Columbia, and I got dumped. Besides, the story I'm reading now is far more interesting than my own.

Twilight out.

Till Kingdom Come

2007-11-29T10:41:00.000-05:00

Two weeks is a bit long to leave people hanging, but things are now much better, so I feel comfortable writing about this.

You see, on Monday the 19th, Kaysha broke up with me.

Her doubts about our relationship began, she told me, a few weeks prior when she commented to her mother about how she didn't feel like she missed me. It was a feeling that her mother warned could be a bad sign. We kept talking each night in the weeks that followed, although she didn't voice her concerns.

I traveled with her and her friend Michelle to an anime convention in Arlington on the weekend of the 17th, where Kaysha was going to sell artwork. I was looking forward not only to spending time with her but also to seeing what it was like to sell at a convention. For her, however, it was test. She was seeing if her feelings changed while I was actually with her, and I learned after the Monday drive back from Asheville that they hadn't. To my credit, I had noticed how distant she had been the whole weekend, but I attributed it to her being concerned about sales (though I did think to myself that if things were going to continue feeling so strained between us, we wouldn't last very long).

I wrote her a lengthy e-mail the next day expounding upon my feelings and offering comforting words of acceptance, but it would be two weeks before we talked again (this past Friday). I had been afraid the whole time that she had written me off completely; something enjoyed, then discarded. Those were dark and unpleasant days for me. But when we did talk, things turned out better than I had hoped. My understanding of things is that we were a bit hasty in getting together. We still used a formal way of speaking to each other even after we were dating. So, perhaps it was inevitable that things didn't work out in the long run. In any case, she very much wanted to remain friends, which was a balm to my soul. We talked like normal and discussed our feelings about everything easily. We did not deny any possibilities or accept any inevitabilities for the future, either. Overall, it was good.

It won't be easy sailing, though. With such a short transition from dating to breaking up to being friends again, I am having trouble adjusting my behavior and expectations. I still like to call her to talk, and she still tolerates it, admitting that she prefers to talk with friends online or in person (which is not really an option for us). I have also grown more used to using the phone over the years to stay in touch with people than she has, so I understand her reluctance in chatting. So, the phone is awkward for her, but it seems the best source of contact for me. This may have to change, but it is not a day I look forward to.

You see, I believe I have discovered a point of disconnect. As some of you know, I like to talk about feelings. I like to try and understand them as well as share those that I have with people. I don't think that this is something that Kaysha shares to my extent. In addition, I have grown so used to her aural presence in my life, my world feels lonely without those phone calls. For most friends, the occasional check-in is fine, but talking to Kaysha has been a way to relax from the constant worries to which I suffer myself. I have been so elated by the prospect of continued communication with her that I failed to take into account how that communication might change aside from dialing down from daily phone calls. I didn't realize just how high-maintenance I am. Maybe I need a new hobby.

While not as painful as the break-up, this floundering for a concrete outline of our relationship and its boundaries is causing not a little panic. I have been on the breakor side of a relationship that retained friendship, but not on the breakee. It is a constant self-examination, coupled with a constant fear of driving her away should I slip up. I am churning through the smoldering remains of my love for her, finding the occasional ember still burning that must be snuffed out. Or, if you rather, my body has begun to recover from the transplant that is the change in our relationship, but my emotional immune system still acts up and tries to reject parts of it, wanting to go back to when things weren't so painful.

Metaphors are no replacement for genuine coping, and I have been trying. I have increased the dosage of my anti-anxiety medicine, which has helped a lot to keep myself from obsessing over her. I think I might have been under-medicating myself for a while, anyway. That or Kaysha was my drug of choice. Better, at any rate, than all the liquor I had the Tuesday after the break-up. Fortunately, my distaste for hard alcohol kept me from anything worse than a little dizziness.

I have also learned to try and take the future a day at a time. Otherwise it is lonely and uncertain and dark. At least it is in my mind, which has a known paranoid bias. So, I'm trying to stay focused on the things that need to be done, the things I've always wanted to work on, and how to enjoy what I have. I remember that Kaysha came to me completely unexpected, and that all my thinking won't account for the natural surprises of life.

I was going to write a bit about struggling to find meaning in life through accomplishments, but it would have been far too depressing. My little existential crisis has been a constant burden since high school, and the only reason I would bring it up now is because of how Kaysha brought some calm into my life and some relief from that stress. I guess that's what love does, and growing up means learning how to make do without it. I dunno. I am still a jumble of thoughts and feelings, but at least I still have a friend called Kaysha who doesn't mind talking to me every now and then.

Twilight out.

Placeholder

2007-11-19T23:25:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I went with Kaysha and her friend Michelle to AnimeUSA in Arlington, VA. I hadn't been to an anime convention since I was back in Clemson, so I was curious how I'd react. Not surprisingly, I was kind of bored. I think that's why I stopped going in the first place. I mean, I can watch anime at home, and you can only see so many dealers rooms before they get repetitive. Maybe if I was better at talking to people, I could make friends at cons and that would make going feel worthwhile. Meh.

EDIT: There has been a big development in my life over the past weekend. I had written about it in the first version of this post, but decided that it was too soon, so I've taken it out. Have patience, friends. I'm alright.

Twilight out.

The Lonely Journal

2007-10-26T21:34:00.000-04:00

You're right, Jeromie. It is high time for another post. Sometimes I grimace at my monthly update schedule. I always aim to write something as soon as I feel I have something worth saying, which, as you can see, isn't very often. I've never really put much stock in the idea of 'finding something to write about,' but its beginning to gain ground.

I think it would be a good step. I've been concerned for a while about how creative I really am. Whenever I try to come up with something, my mind so often goes blank. It is worrisome. I hear the refrain that to write well, one must write constantly. I think that might hold true for creativity. Perhaps it is a kind of mental muscle, that needs development by usage. If that's so, then my frustration is much easier to understand, as I'm not very productive as artist or writer.

So now I'm in Columbia. Its not as bad as I feared. I mean, I still prefer other cities, but Columbia has a certain cuteness and charm. I also don't think it will be quite so troublesome to live with my brother. We are brothers, after all, and while that brings a natural mutual annoyance, it also means that we do have a history of being under the same roof. That's what I tell myself, anyway.

I am starting to get excited about Midlands Tech. I talked to a man in the IT department who told me that they sometimes had to turn employers away for their internship and co-op programs for lack of students. It might just be a useful expansion of my skillset, after all.

Overall, I'm still trying to keep my cool. I used to think, back in college, that I was a pretty loosely-wound guy. Now, I keep stressing out over things and often fall into worried reveries. I have begun, by focused effort, to try and keep this under check. Something's gotta change.

I think that's it for now. Maybe I'll be more verbose next post.

Twilight out.

Lessons Long in the Learning

2007-09-17T23:37:00.000-04:00

After a year in Charleston, the journey continues.

My internship with the Ports Authority went nowhere, and I was fortunate enough to get laid off from my job reading meters; otherwise I would have kept reading and kept "looking" around here without, I suspect, much luck. Now, I migrate to Columbia to live with my brother and continue my search in higher altitudes. It will be cheaper staying with John, although the prospect of sharing a house with him doesn't exactly thrill me. Still, beggars can't be choosers, and being exempt from paying rent is worth a few doubts.

I have learned a lot down here, mainly about myself. I've learned that I have a problem with assertiveness that I still need to address, and that, given the chance, will lapse into complacentcy. I've learned that real life is harder, crueler, and more boring than I had previously believed. I've also learned that I'm the only one who can make something of my life, so I'd better get busy getting... well, busy.

My plan, such as it is, is to go to Midlands Tech in the Spring to pursue a degree in Information Technology. My thinking was that, since I like computers so much, learning more about them for a future job only made sense. I dunno. Like almost everything else in my life, I am consumed with doubt. Part of me would like a career as a copywriter, but I'm not sure how to turn the few freelance jobs I've done into a salaried (or consistently paid, at least) job. Maybe I just need to work up the courage and call some companies.

With all the time I've had recently, I've come to realize just how desperately fear and doubt grip my soul. I have been tasked by Kaysha to write a comic script for her, and though I've written down the rough draft, I have trouble bringing myself to revise it into something worth reading. In the same way, I find it hard to bring myself to start on a story idea I had while talking to Kaysha on the phone not long ago. Whenever I imagine myself sitting before the screen of my laptop, hands on keys, my inner critic rises up in vile joy, voice dripping the poison I drink like wine. I struggle to find pleasure in creative acts like writing, drawing, or sculpting and can't help but wonder how common my battle is.

I finished watching the anime Fruits Basket today, and found it insanely cute. I've been wanting to watch it for some time and was glad to find that it didn't disappoint.

Oh, yes, for all of you in Asheville area, do please begin plotting something for Kaa-san's birthday two weeks from now. I'll be coming up for it, and it'd be great if all of us could do something fun and shameless.

In addition, it looks like the annual Charlotte Renn Faire outing will be taking place on the first weekend in November, with Kaysha and I joining my friends from Charleston and possibly Jeromie and Liz. Any other interested parties feel free to participate. But be prepared for group shanties.

Twilight out.

Con Man

2007-09-05T18:36:00.000-04:00

Ah, DragonCon. Four days of concentrated geekdom. I would venture that this was a good year, especially logistically. Rooming arrangements were well managed and two cars managed to carry seven people with luggage and costumes.

I'm resisting the urge to list all the regrets I bring back with me from the weekend. I find it strange that those are the first things to rise during my mental assessment. Then again, perhaps it's not so strange, considering how I handicapped myself from the start in my thoughts. When Friday morning rolled around with the official beginning of Con, I remember thinking to myself that no matter what I did or how precious I tried to make each moment and every panel, soon it would all be a memory. Everything in life falls away to memory, I said to myself, and you will be left alone on the shores of nostalgia looking back to times gone by.

Not very productive to start out Con so fatalistically, but there I was. Had I thought upon it, I could have mounted a counterargument, but my obsessive tendencies resisted my efforts at a brighter outlook. Their resistance wasn't enough, though. After all, it is Con. How can anyone stay depressed?

Thankfully, I come away from DragonCon with more than morbid reflections on the nature of life. It was a good Con, although I feel like I missed a lot of panels. Admittedly, I did nod off during Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow. One also has to set aside one day of Con (either in whole or in pieces each day) to tour the Dealer's Room and Exhibitor's Hall. I didn't buy anything other than food this Con, but I still enjoyed strolling past tables of wonderfully geeky merchandise with Kaysha. There was even an exhibitor who asked me back to his booth so he could take a picture of me in my Inquisitor outfit (with Kaysha beside me in her Leeloo costume). We were told the picture would be up on the website sometime after Con. With the two or three other people who recognized me from Mutant Chronicles, I think I did better than last year. Everything held together better, too (though I'm finally giving up on magnets).

There were a few other notable panels. The first one schedule-wise that I got really excited over was a presentation on Bose-Einstein Condensates and Fermi Superfluid Gases. Not a little of it went over my head, but I did manage to grasp some things about them I didn't know. The speaker was very personable, too, and cracked jokes while talking high science. I also went to some of the writing panels, but they really didn't tell me anything useful.

I enjoyed the Star Trek panel with Brent Spiner (Data), Gates McFadden (Dr. Crusher), and Jonathan Frakes (Riker), even though very little of the actual show was discussed. The three of them were having a good time making jokes and cutting up. Some fans might have wanted more decorum, but I was glad to see people other than attendees enjoying being at DragonCon. They weren't put off by the fans, either. The audio was so bad on the stage that they couldn't hear the questions being asked, so they eventually had the audience members come up to their table and ask them directly. Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised, but its difficult to get the image of a terror-stricken Summer Glau from last year's Firefly panel out of my head whenever I see stars at conventions.

The 2nd Annual Masquerade Mock-Viewing was lots of fun, with more respectable entrants than last year. See you at the crossroads, Onikaze.

I also managed to try the flight simulator hosted by the Orbital Commerce Project. Even though it seemed like a modified Microsoft Flight Simulator, it was a fun setup with faux cockpit and a full-wall projection. More than the simulation itself, I was glad to see serious tech companies trying to tap into the intellectual curiosity of sci-fi and fantasy fans. I will risk sounding like a regret in saying that I hope to spend more time in the Science and Space tracks next year.

Oh, and were the corsette vendors new this year? Some of Kaysha's friends came by to buy one while Kaysha herself was trying one on for size. Then, later, Beth was wearing one she had bought. I almost feel left out. Maybe they'll have codpieces next year?

After all the rushing and long days and late nights, I look back on DragonCon and see it as a kind of dessert. If you could divide the year in two, then you would have New Years and DragonCon. When you have an event once a year, it's hard not to anticipate it with a fierce longing. And when it arrives, you might be neurotic enough to distract yourself worrying over whether you're making the most of those precious few days. Would going to more Cons help? Maybe a RoundCon here and there to slake that thirst for geek concentrate?

Ah, well. It was fun. I shouldn't try to make more of it than that. Plenty of other things out there to keep a nerd busy.

Twilight out.

In Silence Kept

2007-08-07T15:24:00.000-04:00

No updates since May.

Yeah, I guess that's par for me. Though, recently, I haven't been in the mood for anything productive save costume work for DragonCon. Things have happened that I have only told some of you about.

First off, I no longer read meters. The company I was working for, Bermex, lost its contract for Charleston in mid-July and was replaced by another meter-reading enterprise. Given the option of continuing as a meter-reader, I decided not to transfer over to the new group. I was making no progress where I was, so I hoped to get some motivation by not having the meter reading to fall back on.

Not surprisingly, I panicked. Feeling desperate for work, I took a position with United American Insurace in sales, for which I am now being trained. I have had a bad experience in sales before that I thought would have kept even the idea of sales from taking root in my mind, but for some reason I felt the need to be certain if sales was something I could do or something that was, as might be evidenced now, my favorite mistake.

I am only a few days in, and I don't really know how to rate it. Its certainly scary, but I wonder if its not something that I can do if I remove other options from my mind. If it treat it as a job that has to be done, perhaps I can grin and bear it? I remain unsure. Especially after being left in a small room this morning to take an online test and finding an affection for sitting in a quiet place to work on a computer. If I quit, I quit, and will not mourn the passing.

I am also pestered, you could say, by remaining options should this current effort not pan out. Arnold reminds me of the many shops in Charleston that occasionally have 'Now Hiring' signs up, like Target. My concern with retail work is whether such jobs would pay enough for me to live in Charleston. Also, pride. It is shameful for me to admit, as there isn't much basis for this feeling, that I think I could do better. Having never worked in retail, though (and with few credentials for the jobs I've been looking for), this is an unwarranted arrogance. I suspect that I will not truly find success until I take on a job that will force me to learn some humility.

There is also the possibility, posed to me by my mother, of moving to Columbia and living with my brother. Although I am not quick to jump at the idea, it would reduce my living expenses to the point that I could work a simple (even retail) job somewhere if nothing else was to be found and go to Midlands Tech in my spare time (which I was preparing to do before I came down to Charleston).

Whatever I do, I still plan to pursue freelancing. I have done some writing on a paid and volunteer basis of late, and have found it becoming less intimidating than normal. I have researched some PR and Ad firms, and I hope to contact or visit them sometime to inquire about both a job and independent work.

So, I am uncertain, of wavering confidence, and spoiled. I suspect that there is not a little resentment now leveled at me. Not much I can do about that, really. This is my blog, and a primary avenue for my angst. I do apologize for not speaking of these things in my life earlier to those who have only now learned. I was ashamed of these things, and of the choices I have made (which would suggest a rethinking of sticking with them). I was also afraid of the scorn and derision I might receive. Normally I am used to the sarcasm and bare opinions to be found here in Charleston, but I am far more hesitant with things like these that are so sensitive to me and which can so easily rattle what self-esteem I can muster.

In happier news, Kaysha graduated from college this past weekend. I drove up to watch her walk and help her celebrate with her family. It was a good weekend. Such a good weekend. She will be coming down to visit me in Charleston and help celebrate my birthday the weekend before DragonCon, and we'll be helping Roger move while we're at it. Oh, I also got to make some progress with Stardust. Mmm.

So... I don't really know how to wrap this up. After such a long drought of updates, I feel I should say more. I'm in a poor frame of mind right now, and my thoughts are jumbled. I think there will be things to update soon, so I'll leave further thoughts until then.

Twilight out.

Sweet Meme-ories

2007-05-15T12:36:00.000-04:00

As per posting on Arnold's Livejournal, I am posting the following meme:

Post a comment and...
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
4. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
5. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
6. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
7. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal.

Let it be known that my computer is still off getting fixored by Apple, so responses may be a tad delayed.

Twilight out.

Geeks with Guns

2007-04-16T17:22:00.000-04:00

I have never heard of this site "for the gamer who's sick of the typical," but after reading this article from Gamegrene, I find myself drawn, if not into their fold, then at least to stare with a determined squint at their angst-laden agenda. Like a puppy sniffing an insect, wondering if it would taste bad or held canine nirvana in its husk. If only my toes didn't curl unconciously whenever I read the URL.

I will post the article here, in italics, for you to read. Ostensibly, to save you the trouble of clicking on a link. Truthfully, to take up the empty space in this entry.

When President Bush ordered troops to Iraq, he probably never imagined that he would be ultimately be responsible for what very well could be the very first D&D convention/game day ever held in a war zone. Ziggurat Con, being held June 9 from 1200 to 2100 hours at Camp Adder/Tallil Airbase, is open to all allied military personnel and civilian contractors in Iraq.
"Here in Iraq, we do many things on the different Forward Operating Bases to help keep our spirits up," said SPC David Amberson, the Con's organizer. "Here at Camp Adder/Tallil Airbase, we have lots of sports activities -- baseball, football, dodgeball, kickball -- and we work with many marathons across the US like the Boston Marathon. This is a great way to improve morale among the troops, but what about those who prefer Role-Playing Games?"

The Con's historical landmark "mascot" -- the Ziggurat that gives the Con its name -- can be found on the post, and hails from the ancient city of Ur. Nearby is the house where it is believed that Abraham (a large figure in the Bible, the Koran and the Torah) was born. Cool digs for a Con -- if not for the fact that there's a war going on. Amberson, however, emphasized the need for soldiers to relax and kick back with enjoyable activities from time to time.

"There is a deeper sense of camaraderie in a war zone than you see back home," said Amberson, who is a supply soldier with Alpha Company, 86th Signal Battalion. "You eat with these people, work with them on a daily basis, and can even share a tent with the same people. When work is over for the day, we can sit back, relax, drink our favorite sodas, eat our favorite snacks, and play a bit of D&D. This helps us relax in a very stressful environment. We found a place where we can go somewhere far away from the IED's, mortar attacks, and gunfire, without ever leaving the safety of our camp. The next step was only logical."

Miss Joy Brown, an employee with KBR who works with MWR (the army’s Morale Welfare & Recreation Department) has graciously allowed service members to use part of the Community Activity Center to hold the Game Day. The Ping Pong room will be set up for RPGs (Role-Playing Games, not to be confused with the rocket propelled grenades which share the same acronym), and the DVD Movie room will be playing Anime Movies all day in support of the event.

"Miss Brown has expressed her support of the soldiers who are planning this event, and who keep her in the loop," said Amberson. "In many events, MWR does the running around, trying to get supplies and support; however, in this case, it is the service members themselves who are contacting the publishers and manufacturers. This makes it a real event for the service members, by the service members."

The largest problem with running a Con in Iraq, of course, is that there are no local stores or game publishers, and few game books on the post. Even dice are in short supply, with many soldiers breaking the unwritten taboo held by many gamers and (gasp!) sharing dice. Thankfully, many game publishers have also lent their support, and have agreed to supply game products to help the Con along. aethereal FORGE, Sovereign Press, Final Redoubt Press, Goodman Games, Paizo Publishing and Steve Jackson Games are among those that have thrown in their support for the convention. But Amberson indicated that the soldiers could definitely use more.

"This convention is currently in drastic need of prizes and giveaways for the troops," he said. "Everything donated will go directly to the troops, or to MWR to use as loaner books for the soldiers."

For more information, contact SPC David Amberson at the following address: david.amberson (at) iraq.centcom.mil

Donations can also be sent to SPC Amberson directly at the following address:

SPC David Amberson
A Co 86th Sig Bn
APO, AE 09331

"We thank you all back home for supporting us, and we promise that we will try to come back home safe and sound," said Amberson.

I find that not a few flavors of awesome, and I am but a babe fresh from the console teet in matters of RPGs and conventions. I am proud of our troops in Iraq and admire the strength they call upon every day in their duty and in the face of hostility. It makes me grin to see things like this, though I am somewhat saddened that the pun on RPGs was already made in the article.

That would have been a blast to throw out.

Twilight out.

The Da Vinci Syndrome

2007-03-25T23:44:00.001-04:00

Hope told me a few months ago that my variety of interests reminded her of Leonardo da Vinci. After some reflection, I saw a further connection. I once watched a documentary about Leonardo's life and it was revealed to me that he had something of a short attention span. He would begin great projects to test and expand his abilities, but he would lose interest when faced with the tedious job of finishing his works. Artistic ADD, if you will. I also find it in myself. Guitar, pennywhistle, exercise, it always seems that I lose interest. It's only when there's still excitement am I able to pursue things with vigor.

I know, great shocker. I daresay its a common ailment for most people. I continue, for my part, to seek that new edge, that next thrill. Oh, I don't often pursue any terribly risky ventures (though I would not rule them out), but there is certainly a longing for more. I think its one reason that I've always been so interested in science and technology. The geek in me finds it exhilarating to learn how the world works, to expand by that much more my grasp of Creation. The Peace Corps was also a search for adventure. Yet in my nostalgia for that harsh land I find my favorite times to be those when I was alone. My heart is still drawn across the sea to memories of getting lost in the rainy season's new growth and I find myself wanting some new frontier to explore.

Is this a life calling, or mere restlessness? Looking on history, its hard not to see it as both. Have we not always been a species that pushes and pursues? Are we not afraid that the boogyman of boredom may darken our threshold? And if so, do we truly search for new places to be, or do we search for ourselves in new places?

Eh. I don't really expect to get anywhere with these thoughts, except for a spiritual nod of the head to the eternal wanderlust within me. I confess that it feels good to remind myself that no matter how far I come, there's always somewhere else left to go.

Twilight out.

Worst Week Ever

2007-03-07T22:52:00.000-05:00

Although Monday was pretty nice. Guess that makes it the exception.

Tuesday was when things started going downhill. I got a call while I was reading meters from one of the groups I had written an article for. They said that they appreciated it, but it wasn't quite what they had in mind. Thanks anyway. Okay, my first rejection. No biggie. Then, I got a call from my boss at the Ports Authority about the same article. You see, I hadn't cleared it with PR, and that was a big problem with them. She made sure I was coming in that day so she could talk about it, as she was already catching hell.

When you're out reading meters, most people's minds wander quite a bit. Mine tends to fixate. I found myself detached, going through the motions of reading on a warm, sunny day while my heart darkened with self-loathing and my thoughts turned to the attraction of suicide. You know, standard fare for me when things go bad.

Things were straightened out when I came in to the Ports Authority, but I was given a choice: remain an intern or pursue freelancing. Not both. I was told to call in the next day with an answer, which I did. I knew my future lay in writing, and the internship had been of little profit lately. So I chose freelancing, and my boss told me to enjoy the rest of the day and bring back my badge and things at my leisure. We parted on good terms, and I thought things were well.

Still, there was a cloud over me. Now that the internship was over, what was I to do? Continue searching for work, obviously, but I couldn't continue to leave half of my days empty. The simplest solution would be to begin reading meters full-time, but even writing that here makes me cringe. This dilemma put me in a foul mood for the rest of the day, and my friends caught on. I went out to dinner with Hope, and she helped to calm my emotions a bit, assuring me that doing things we don't like can be a good thing sometimes.

But there was that damn cloud. It hung over me today, as well. Tuesday was filled with self-hatred, Wednesday with an annoyance with the world, but today, I found myself consumed by a quiet fury. I wanted to break things. Even at small group tonight, which was filled with lots of sage advice and touching stories, I felt dull inside and restless. My left hand even began to shake towards the end. Then, another call.

It was my boss, and she was calling about yet another article I had sent to a development group about Foreign-Trade Zones without, you guessed it, clearing it with anyone. She was livid, though she did an admirable job hiding it. I left messages with the necessary people to try and clear her of any responsibility and to retract the article, and tomorrow will show if I succeeded.

Now, I lay in bed writing this on my laptop while marveling at the magnitude of my incompetence. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Its not like I have any real business experience, and certainly not with the red tape of a large bureaucracy. I was given warning about clearing things, though, even if it wasn't remembered. I'm either too free-spirited or too dumb. I'm leaning towards the latter. I don't know how this is going to affect me in the long run, but I damaged my rapport with my boss, and that's the worse part.

It eluded me for a while, actually. I thought what bugged me most was the thought of reading meters full-time. I don't like the idea, sure, but what turns my soul inside-out is the knowledge that I screwed up. I made a mistake that a simple "sorry" and an innocent smile couldn't fix. And someone got hurt. Professionally. She put faith in me, and I betrayed it. Its a good thing I don't habitually carry sharp things with me.

Hopefully things can be mended. I think I can catch the article before it actually goes anywhere, and groveling enough might help people forget whose intern I was. After that, I can't say. I'll do what I have to, I guess.

Such is life, in all its shambling, evanescent glory.

Twilight down.

A Terrifying Purpose

2007-02-07T16:34:00.000-05:00

Some things take a while. Trees do not grow overnight. Canyons do not carve themselves. It was also some time before I made the move from Denmark to Charleston. Lots of resumes went out, interviews were conducted, and names were shared in the interest of networking. Eventually, though, I made it down here. And while my current situation still leaves much to be desired, few would disagree that I'm better off than I was.

Other things, though, spring to life as if they've been waiting for the chance. I ordered the book "The Well-Fed Writer" about a month and a half ago and decided to start billing myself as an up-and-coming freelance commercial writer. As it stands today, I have three articles pending with various people, the potential for doing several paid press releases about local businesses for Dorchester County, and an initial article about the port for a development organization's new newsletter in addition to ongoing work with them.

Excuse me while I try to stop my head from spinning.

Not a single word of mine has been published, nor has a single check been made out to me, but I feel as if success is creeping up behind me, giggling with a foreign mirth. This is good! I'm making waves, as it were.

This hasn't stopped me from looking for a full-time job, of course. There's a certain comfort in having a paycheck. Health coverage is also particularly important for me since I take medication. For all the complaints that can be leveled against office work, at least its dependable.

That's what scares me about this success-in-the-wings. If I struck out on my own, I'd have to do my own marketing to find work. I'd have to regiment myself. I'd have to buy and manage my own health insurance. It almost makes me want to crawl into a cubicle for cover.

Almost.

While talking to one of my new 'clients' today, I realized that she was treating me as a full-fledged professional writer. I only had a draft of an unpublished article and a copy of my newsletter that takes little more than cut-and-paste! It was a potent moment, but I knew I couldn't turn back or look to someone else to tell me what to do.

I've been saying that I'm a writer, and people have believed me. I shouldn't be so shocked. A writer, of all people, should know the power of words.

I don't know how long its going to take to develop an income, so I'm still going to keep an eye out for a full-time job. Should the opportunity present itself, though, I'll strike out on my own. Its certainly intimidating, but with job upon job presenting itself, I think it has merit. It is a terrifying purpose far too promising to ignore.

Twilight out.

The Fall of Avannan

2007-02-01T15:25:00.000-05:00

For those of you not in Charleston, what follows requires some preamble. Since I moved here, I have become involed in a monthly D&D game hosted by my friend Dave. My other friends here join in, such as Hope, Arnold, Beth, and Roger (it was Arnold who brought me in the first place). I needed a character to play, obviously, so I decided to be a cleric. As the cleric is the healer and D&D involves no small amount of combat, he is an essential position to fill.

That was my initial reason. I like stories, though, and characters with substance, so I wanted my cleric to have more than (what I consider) a cool name. So I pondered for a bit, and came up with a backstory. In doing so, I ended up creating a civilization. So as not to spoil too much for the fellow players who are reading, I'll only post here the legend I wrote.

________________________________________________________

"There are many myths that float through the barbarous lands past the
eastern mountains. Most tell of the gods and the coming of
the mortal races, but there is one story that has persisted
in the lore of every race for as long as there have been people to
share it.

It tells of the ancient land of Avannan, the first great kingdom in
this land. The capital, Avannis, was built upon the Lonely Island
located in the center of the Inland Sea. The ruins still stand, and
are old beyond reckoning. It is impossible to say where the kingdom-
builders came from. Some legends say that the gods brought the
favored children of great races from afar and taught them of building
and ruling. Other stories say the people were of the gods
themselves; demigods subduing the land for their glory. Still others
say that the dragons once came in disguise among primitive men and
beget offspring from the fairest, wisest, and strongest they found.
Overall, descriptions of the kingdom conflict in all regards but one:
that there was a great power held by its people, protected deep
within the island capital.

This history of Avannan is the story of its fall. It first
tells of the great prosperity of the Avann under their king,
Rodinnar. He had made peace with the barbarian tribes and
eventually sought an alliance with the dwarves of the mountains, so
he sent an envoy to the dwarven king, Thronil. The Avann
emissaries were unfamiliar with dwarven ways, however, and a grave
insult was innocently uttered in Thronil's hall. Thronil cast the
envoy from the mountains and declared war on Avannan.

Thronil was no fool, however. He knew of the strength of Avannan and
had heard rumors of the hidden power in their capital. Some said it
was this power, a gift of the gods perhaps, that gave the Avann their
strength and protected them. He sent for Viridian, a mercenary sorcerer
who wandered the lands. Viridian had seen much of the world and knew
something of the powers that dwelt where mortal eyes could not see.
He confessed to having as little knowledge of the Avann as Thronil but
offered his services to the dwarf king.

Rodinnar had no love of battle but knew that swords would have to be
drawn before a reconciliation could be made with Thronil. The
dwarves found the Avann to be as strong as Thronil thought while the
Avann themselves were impressed with the endurance of the dwarves.

Neither side gained ground, to the frustration of Viridian. As the
war drew on, he became ever more intrigued by the Avann he saw on the
battlefield. They seemed different to him than other humans he had
met, even from those whose blood was mingled with other races. A
hunger began to grow in his heart to learn what the secret they
guarded truly was.

He summoned other sorcerers to his service, as well as creatures from
other planes. He learned that the dwarves were planning to empty the
mountain with a great assault on Avannis, so Viridian offered to lead
a second charge and flank the city with his magical force.

The Avann met the dwarves before the walls of Avannis. Seeing such
a great host, and knowing how many would perish, Rodinnar rode toward
the dwarven army alone and called out for Thronil to talk with him.
Thronil was nothing if not proud, and strode out to meet the Avann king.
Rodinnar spoke earnestly of his desire for peace and how no insult was
meant by his envoy. Thronil answered that an insult was still heard
despite intentions, but it might be forgiven if Rodinnar could defeat
him in single combat. Rodinnar consented, and their forces watched as
their lords sqaured off. It was a long and hard fight, with equal shares
of blood being spilled. In the end, Thronil yielded and declared the
insult forgiven by valor.

Viridian, for his part, kept to the plan. He now knew nothing other
than finding the Power Within the Isle, as he called it. Instead of
a siege, he had his sorcerers create illusions to draw away the Avann
defenders so that he, alone, could infiltrate the city. Once inside,
he changed his form to match the Avann and slowly made his way toward
the heart of the city.

Their grievance settled, Thronil and Rodinnar began to talk of alliances
and rebuilding what had been lost in war. Thronil also told Rodinnar
about Viridian. The dwarf king was surprised, however, to find that his
soldiers could not find him among the ranks of sorcerers. It was then that
Rodinnar saw Viridian's desire, and raced back to the city.

The two of them, sorcerer and king, are said to have met in the
center of Avannis, in a great room called the Hall of Dreaming. No
description exists of the room and no record has been found that
tells what happened between Rodinnar and Viridian. The only
witnesses of these events were the dwarves, and what happened after
Rodinnar left the battlefield is this:

As the dwarven and Avann soldiers stood outside the city, a strange
glow surrounded them. It filled the sky and covered the ground with
an otherworldly light. Something then happened to the Avann. Their
expressions changed and they seemed to be staring at some distant
horizon. They turned away from the amazed dwarves to face their
capital. A soft voice started to sing from somewhere in the city in
an unknown tongue to a melody that was unrepeatable. It grew
stronger and the Avann soon joined in. At that moment, the forms of
the Avann standing before the dwarves began to change. The dwarven
soldiers each reported seeing something different; some saw the Avann
looking very dwarvish, others saw dragons or angels where men once
were, and still some saw things for which they had no words. The
Avann began to walk towards the city, and it seemed that the ground
itself stretched away from the dwarven army to draw the Avann in.
The song that had filled the air reached a crescendo, and the dwarves
covered their ears from its pounding and shut their eyes against the
Avann who were now shining too brightly to look at. When they could
look again, all was silent and still.

Thronil lead the dwarves into the city, but no Avann were to be
found. The doors to the Hall of Dreaming were shut and no arm could
move them nor any dwarven hammer break them. The dwarves soon left,
feeling that they should not linger in the city any longer. It
stands now as it did then. From time to time, a wanderer or forest
creature will find its way into the ancient streets, but they, like
the dwarves of legend before them, will never be able to stay long.

Some say the city is waiting for its people to return. You see, not
all the Avann disappeared that day. There were some who had
journeyed off to explore the world and eventually settled in distant
villages or cities, passing their bloodline down through the
generations. When they heard about what happened to Avannis, they
strangely didn't return. When asked why, their only answer would be
a smile and a far-off look. They never forgot their home, though,
and they passed this story to their children and all who would
listen. The Avann who had once lived in Avannis never embellished
the story or answered the many questions that would follow. If it
was cruelty, it was a solitary kind that was never elsewhere spoken
of them. Whatever their reason, it is now impossible to separate the
truth of Avannan from the fancies of storytellers. The dwarves, for
their part, have never spoken of any records or artifacts from the
ancient kindgom. All that remains is this legend. Those that have
heard it tell others still. I was one such listener, and now I have
told it to you."

-the cleric Vonnar Bandish, entertaining the crew of the Albers during a voyage

___________________________________________________________

I've thought of more since I wrote that, expanding on the mythos and the history. Most I'd like to keep between Dave and myself, but we'll see. I think it'll make for an interesting tale.

Twilight out.

2006: The Year That Happened

2007-01-04T14:21:00.000-05:00

Its only in looking back on 2006 that I realize just how much has happened in the last year. I have an unfortunate tendency to forget things that others consider important. It usually takes a concerted mental effort or some sort of cue for me to remember things that aren't either scenes from an anime or the speech from Braveheart. So, let's take a stroll down memory lane to see what made 2006 worth the effort.

The first half of 2006 is still kinda hazy. I can remember what I did for New Year's, but not much after that. I can only assume that life was going along as it had been since mid-2004: uneventful and full of restlessness. I remember going with Arnold and Beth to RoundCon in... March? That was great fun, and my first experience feeling 'at home' among a large group of people who share my interests. Plus, free Pocky and endless anime.

Also around March or April (I hope he'll forgive me my poor memory) was Jeromie's bachelor party. No, I can't remember when he got engaged, so I'm moving on to the next important event. Paintball with slingshots shall remain one of my fondest memories of 2006. I confess to feeling my chest swell with a certain pride to be a part of such an experiment. A test, rather, of those essential masculine skills of draw and aim. A test I pretty much failed, at that. But it was being among men that colors my memory the most. Not just men, but sincere men who took life seriously, which meant that they knew the importance of taking other things less seriously so that you could truly engage life. That day was far too short, if you ask me.

March really was a time for beginnings. It must have been around then that my parents' new house began to take shape; the house they had spent that past year or so planning. It was exciting to watch it go up, but even more exciting to watch them. I don't know how long they had dreamed of building a house in the woods, but it had been simmering in their hearts for some time. There wasn't dancing, or singing, or the kind of celebratory gestures you'd expect. But I knew. By the happy inflection in their voice when they spoke of it or how they'd drive out to visit it everyday and check the progress. For me, young and embarking out to find my dreams, it was touching to see that old ones can still come alive.

Then, that summer, everything changed.

My parents moved into their new house and out of my childhood home. I moved to Charleston. Jeromie married Liz.

This year could (and will, by some) be remembered for the wedding alone. I wouldn't object. I can hardly think of another occasion where so much joy was condensed into a mere weekend. It was the first wedding I was truly glad to have attended. After all, I got to see my best friend wed his true love, and how many times do you get to see that in a lifetime?

Charleston, for its part, has been quite an adventure. There was getting used to a part-time job in the mornings, trying out a failed rooming situation, and learning my bearings in the sometimes overwhelming business world. All while looking for full-time work (stay tuned).

Of course, who can forget DragonCon? Ah, the frantic costume preparation during August that I almost thought I wouldn't be able to pull off at all... It was crazy, expensive, and frustrating at times, but man do I look forward to next year.

So where does that leave me? In a pretty good place, actually. I think I have a grasp on a good career path for me and I'm surrounded by great friends who are themselves making noble strides towards their own goals. I'm feeling more artistic and more enabled than I have in a long time. Its looking good.

In the end, 2006 left me pretty blessed.

No qualification.

No introspection.

I have the uncharted waters of a new year ahead of me, and its time I started making some waves.

Twilight out.

P.S.
Oh, yeah. A picture for everyone of how I spent most of New Years Eve, until Hope saw some fireworks. ;)

Nose Tall Joe

2006-12-04T22:27:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking about my future recently. Following a suggestion by my boss at the Ports Authority, I've been wondering about starting my own business. The original suggestion was to create and manage newsletters for people and companies, since my boss has been getting compliments on the one I did for her. From there I could expand into other artistic work, like illustration, sculpture, or writing services. The thing is, I've found that two organizations in Charleston already use a company to handle newletters and e-mail lists. They even have some services offered for free. So, I've been wondering, and researching when I can, about where my particular talents might find an intitial purchase. What service could I offer that no one else offers or that I could do better, or what niche market has yet to be exploited? A recent idea was to try and become a freelance commercial writer. I intend to pursue this further, gleaning as much as I can from my boss. As always, if anyone has ideas to offer, please feel free.

Jeromie rather liked the idea, pointing out that as far as creative projects go, I'm much more comfortable and productive working on things that other people task me with. It's a conclusiong I've come to myself already. The task now is to find how it can be properly applied to my life. How does one who wishes to be so creative yet finds such difficulty in actually creating motivate himself to do more? I've always thought that in that far off "someday" I'd figure out what it was that I was supposed to; that thing which resonated, like a lost lover, with my soul. What of all of you? Is there something that, left to yourselves without distractions, you like to do above all else?

On another subject, I was talking to my new gal-pal Kaysha a few weeks ago when she told me hazy memories she had of a cartoon she had watched in her youth. I recognized the theme and thought it might have been one of the shows I had watched and adored in my youth, as well. So, curious, I did some Websearch and found the show that had tickled our mutual recollections for so many years: Noozles. It was one of my favorite shows, and I still remember pieces of it better than I would expect for the age at which I watched it. Is it any surprise, then, that it turns out to be anime? Indeed, friends, my attraction to Japanese animation has been a courtship played out for longer than I had imagined.

It doesn't end there, though. I found another site with a considerable list of classic Nickelodeon programming, the channel of choice in my youngest days. I watched almost everything listed on the site. The Adventures of the Little Koala, Bananaman, Belle and Sebastian, Count Duckula, Danger Mouse, David the Gnome, Grimm's Fairy Tales, Littl' Bits, Mapletown, Maya the Bee, the Mysterious Cities of Gold, Spartakus and the Sun Beneath the Sea... Of them all, the Mysterious Cities of Gold and Spartakus stood out in my mind as the two shows that told grand, sci-fi stories (and I loved them for it), although I couldn't remember what Spartakus was called until I found it on this site. There are even cartoons I remember watching that aren't listed on here. You'll notice again, though, that most of these shows are Japanese. Spartakus was French and the comedies are British.

The coincidences start to pile up. I watched French and Japanese cartoons when I was a wee child. In college, I studied French and fell in love with Japanese anime. In Senegal, a French-speaking country, I participate in the first joint swearing-in of American and Japanese volunteers. I know I'm drawing connections that might mean nothing. If you believed in nothing but the world around us, then they would be fancies. And, indeed, they probably are. But I don't believe in that all coincidences are just that. What these coincidences are, I don't know, but I have ever so much fun thinking about it. Makes me wonder what's next. :)

Let's see... what am I forgetting? Oh, yes. Arnold, Beth, Roger, Hope, and I all drew lots recently for Secret Santa. I found the gift for my person tonight; I can't wait to see who gets me what. We also joined Tamara for a Stingrays hockey game Saturday night. I think it was my second hockey game, but it could have been my first if my memory is fooling me. I enjoyed it. Watching them play even game me an idea for a Deliria premise. Also, for those who don't know, Jeromie just quit his job at Benefitfocus to go do computer work for his dad's company. He's going to telecommute since his dad's in Mobile, AL. Wish him well.

And now, some links:

Jeromie's blog, with some recent updates.

My deviantART account, now with stuff on it.

Twilight out.

Yes, I Know Its Long

2006-11-10T13:02:00.000-05:00

In talking to a friend, I was reminded that, all things considered, I'm pretty spoiled. True, I am living in part on both my savings and the goodwill of my parents. But how many people can claim to have enough of either to do so? They put me up for two years while I looked for work, and even now still take care of some of my expenses, such as a cell phone. I remember hearing on the radio not long ago that before welfare, families would take care of each other. Whatever else there was, there was support. I still have that, and love, too. I already knew this, but I had forgotten. I know my whining evokes not a little resentment, so I'll try to refrain. There's better stuff to write about anyway. Like Renn Faires!

(And Dave, I made a joke in my previous post at your expense. It was not malicious, but I feel it might have been in very poor taste. So to you and all who might have been offended on your behalf, I apologize.)

This past weekend I went with Arnold, Beth, Dave, and Hope to the Carolina Renaissance Festival in Charlotte. Hope rode with me, as I was planning on visiting with Jeromie and Liz in Greenville and needed my car. More on that later. We drove up on Friday afternoon and stayed in a Ramada a few miles north of Charlotte.

Through a series of online messages and e-mails, I had arranged to meet up with a girl I had met at DragonCon, Kaysha. She had been cosplaying an anime character I recognized when I first saw her (which was automatically endearing) but had also been exhausted, so we didn't really get to talk. Having found so much in common through our exchanges, though, we were both looking forward to some face-to-face conversation.

She found me outside the gate getting my ticket and greeted me with a curtsy that I returned with a bow. Ah, Renn Faires. She also presented me with the surprise gift of her copy of "Till We Have Faces" by C.S. Lewis, a retelling of the tale of Psyche from the point of view of her ugly older sister and one of the few books by Lewis I haven't read. So, we were off to a pretty good start. :)

Once inside the Faire proper, everyone went their own ways. Arnold and Co. headed one way and I walked with Kaysha to the joust she wanted to see with her friends. I felt bad about leaving my Charleston friends, but I had expected that I would be spending the day with Kaysha whoever may come or go.

At first, it was awkward. Neither of us seem to be the over-talkative type, so there was a lot of silence. Not uncomfortable silence, but since this was a rare occasion for us to talk in person, I felt the pressure of trying to make conversation. Fortunately, there was plenty of material all around us.

We wandered and shopped for a bit after the joust, talking about ourselves and anime. We both particularly liked the booth selling bamboo instruments. We ran into Arnold at the music pavillion and sat listening to drums, bagpipes, and something with an H that looked like a gourd. It was then that Susan Hickey appeared. I have been listening to her CD at Arnold's every chance I've been able to get, and here she was mere feet from me. By the time I requested "Humours of Whiskey" she had drawn a crowd. I promptly bought a CD when she was done.

After the performance we ran into some other friends. Then everyone went their own ways again, with Kaysha and I returning to shopping. She told me she wanted to find 'pointy things', by which she meant weapons. I smiled. We soon found some, at the Starfire Swords booth. They were well-balanced and generally lightweight weapons used in mock battles, so they had no edge to speak of but were designed to be bashed against each other. They had a nice selection. I particularly liked the scimitar.

We ended up circling Faire by the time Kaysha got hungry for some steak (I think my belt was too tight to allow my own stomach any hunger). It was a good thing, too, since by that time they were out of everything else. We sat while she ate and talked about costumes and cosplaying when Arnold walked up and was glomped by a complete stranger. I was disbelieving at first, but it had apparently been happening to him all day.

We found our way back to the last act of the joust (whose outcome was not hard to predict), and then got to watch the R-rated version of the Tortuga Twins show. Lots of penis jokes, innuendos, and butt in our faces on the side seats of the stage. It had begun to get cold with the sun having set, so I took Kaysha up on her offer to share her cloak. Lemme tell you, that's a nice cloak.

And so the Faire ended and all attending made their way out. On our way, Kaysha and I mused over when our next meeting might be (with no clue between us) and hugged before we said goodbye. It was then time head to Greenville. Since I was going alone, and since Jeromie offered dinner, I left straight from the Faire, although I did feel guilty not eating with the friends I had abandoned all day.

It was my first time in Jeromie's house, and it was nice. Instead of a separate living and dining room, it has a single L-shaped room that runs the front and side of the house. Eating and talking with he and Liz was the perfect wind-down from the Faire (although all I could talk about was Kaysha). We then surfed the Net in front of the fire (with Jeromie showing me new vids from Twilight Princess *drool*) and listened to Liz tell the ghost story 'Taleybone'.

Sunday started off normal, with DCF and lunch with friends. Then it came time for me to leave in hopes of catching the tail end of Hope's birthday celebration. Along I-385, though, my right rear tire exploded. As I had already used my full-size spare on a flattened tire a few months ago, I had to put on a donut and head to a Goodyear to buy some replacments. It didn't take as long as I thought, and I got back to Chaz Town in time to have some leftover cheesecake at Hope's and watch Hitch with her.

The tire demon wasn't done with me yet, though. As I was about to go in to the Ports Authority on Tuesday I found that my left rear tire was flat after taking in a vagrant screw. So it was back to the tire place that evening for yet another new tire. As it stands, I have one tire on my care that yet lives. I hope the incense and slain squirrels I leave by it every night are enough to appease that angry auto spirit.

So that's it. This weekend doesn't look quite as exciting, but I'm rather happy about that. I hope to relax a bit and work on some things. Still, my mind turns to Kaysha.

I was amazed while talking to her at how much we have in common. Heck, she even shares my taste for kidney beans! We were both a little nervous the whole day at the Faire, so as much as I enjoyed our conversations, I know there's SO much more for me to learn about her. I think that's what excites me most of all. She's still a mystery. I take something of a risk writing this, since I know that Kaysha reads my blog now. And what will she think, I wonder? I daren't say. I do not know where any of this will lead, and I don't want to build expectations on the foundation of mere fancies. I have spoken my heart, as much as it can grasp these things.

Ah, before I forget:

Kaysha's deviantART gallery

Dave's Renn Faire pics

Enjoy, and thanks for reading.

Twilight out.

Hardened Heart

2006-10-24T19:04:00.000-04:00

Weeeeell, I hope I still have a readerbase after all this downtime. RSS, anyone?

Things are still plodding along as they have been for months now in Charleston, and I won't trouble you with the details of my new apartment. Why? Because I think they're boring. I have so many other things I think about, so many other grander things, that a new place to live, unless its floating, flying, or in orbit, seems rather dull.

As the title may have suggested to you, I chance another post about faith. I have been reluctant to talk about my spiritual struggles for various reasons. One, I dislike whining, yet it seems that's what this blog turns to more times than not. And two, its hard for me to imagine something more grating for those of you who are not believers than to hear a Christian complain about the state of his soul. I could be wrong. Perhaps it's fascinating. Maybe I should even invite Dave to critique from time to time.

Wait. Scratch that.

At any rate, I had intended this entry to bring a few things to public light. Whether they evoke sympathy, chastisement, or curiosity is up to my esteemed audience.

The first two things have to do with worship. Praise and worship, to be exact. From DCF to Seacoast, it is inevitable that at a certain point, hands go in the air. This is a good thing. The people raising their hands are celebrating an intimacy with God that can only find expression in exultation. My issue with this is the fact that it's never happened to me. I wonder why not. Is my faith too weak? My relationship with Christ too paltry? Or am I simply not a 'hand raiser'? For every person that lifts their arms to the ceiling, there are probably five who don't. Oh, they sway. They bow their heads under a holy presence, but appendages stay close to the body proper. It makes me wonder if the discomfort and envy I feel when I see hand-raising happen is perhaps not warranted. Is a silent, solemn praise acceptable, even in the midst of crying aloud?

The second thing has to with the band itself. It's petty, really; a trifling quirk. But its persistant. When the band really gets into the music its playing, they, too, feel the need to raise their arms. Since they're holding instruments, however, they find that a bit inconvenient. So, they just keep playing. Choruses will repeat and what was once an ending will stretch out, becoming almost instrumental. I find myself inwardly sighing and thinking, "move to another song or stop playing, but make up your mind!" I know. Its completely irreverent. But I had to say it somewhere, to someone.

The third thing is sermons and how my usual response to them is guilt. Yes, I say to myself, that's me. I've fallen short, I'm not even close to what I should be. I feel so dirty and ashamed. Or if it's about God, I'll think, "Yup, God's awesome, and how have I been treating Him?" It's almost pavlovian. Shame is so second-nature to me it's disgusting (which is a funny sentence when you think about it). But I caught myself on Saturday. I was driving back from volunteering at the Convoy of Hope where I helped stuff bags of groceries to be given to needing families. As I drove, I thought of how I could have done more. Stuffing groceries removed me from people too much, I argued. It was cowardice, a fear of interaction. Then, a new thought rose up. No! This was not cowardice! I was nervous about volunteering, so I wanted a job I was comfortable with but could still help. And now that I've done it, I know I can do more. This is not weakness! This is growth! And with that, my guilt disappeared. I guess sometimes it takes a roaring God to rattle the bindings of shame.

Now, you may ask, what of the title? Is this yet another abstract rambling? No, dear reader, not this time. I refer to the slight dulling of optimism over the years and its replacement by skepticism. It's only slight, and I'm sure to many of you I remain a bastion of naivete and positive outlook. Let me give you a more concrete illustration. I was recently called up by Pre-Paid Legal, Inc. after they had found my resume on Monster.com. They're a network marketing company selling what amounts to legal insurance. You pay a small amount every month for access to lawyers, consultations, a will, identity theft protection, etc. Not a bad company or setup. However, that still left the whole selling thing. They have a system set up where you're supposed to show people materials and get them to talk to 'experts' if interested. So it's not actually selling, they say. Splendid! Except that most people would probably be pretty skeptical, I imagined.

Then it hit me: I was losing it. Not just what little remains of my sanity; my optimism. I thought that I was just being more realistic, drawing from my experience with door-to-door sales. But what if this was different? Didn't I owe it to myself to take that chance? One of their principles was personal development, and the guy I talked to gave me a list of recommended reading. I laughed to myself inside when he suggested "How to Win Friends and Influence People", but did a double-take. Was this another sign of how jaded I had become? Is this the kind of person I wanted to be, scoffing at dreams and those who pursue them despite failures?

In the end, it doesn't matter, since there's a cost for them and I can't afford it right now. I'm having to dive into my savings just to pay my new rent. I've not yet found the kind of work I would jump at, and I really don't want to go full-time as a meter reader. So, I may have to accept that I'm only qualified to be a secretary. Yes, I had thought I was better than that, and yes I know that work is work. It's just not pleasant to realise you have no marketable skills. Maybe I'm due for a lesson in humility before I find anything I want. Maybe it's never been about what I want. Maybe I'm so twisted around in my own pensive musings and existential wanderings that I've lost track of what I should be doing. Oh, Blog, what should I do?

And there you have it, folks. Sorry it seems so negative, but I had to have a release somehow. It seems everyday is filled with a constant stress and anxiety about finding a real job. Hardly my normal character, but I don't want to think it's because of a hardening heart.

Twilight out.

Booted

2006-09-18T18:33:00.000-04:00

Posting from Arnold's. A pox on thee, Ports Authority filters!

So it seems my roommate and I are going our separate ways. Except that mine involves moving all my stuff out.

I'm not terribly surprised. We've had issues since I started living with him. Whenever something's been amiss, I'll get little letters left for me on the coffee table since I leave for work before he gets up. With one exception (him being miffed over my costuming debris giving him blood poisoning when he stepped on it), it's been about one thing: distance.

Specifically, the over-abundance of it. I tend to be a loner, only asking for help when I absolutely need it and often opting for time alone. It seemed to me that he was like this, too, retreating up to his computer for the remainder of the evening after he had eaten and watched his shows. We didn't talk much, and that was okay with me as long as it didn't bother him.

Looks like it did. He has described me as being unapproachable and behaving as one better than he, neither of which I directly deny. I am reserved and quiet, which I suppose can make me awkward to approach, and I have been told before that I act (quite unintentionally) aloof. This is not, however, a rebuttal to his request that I leave. We don't work out, plain and simple. (Unless we talk and 'work things out', but I'm getting tired of going back and forth with that, too.)

To be completely honest, I can't say I'm comfortable around him, either. Perhaps we have too much water under the bridge for me to walk across it calmly. Maybe I do think myself better than he, for which I shall no doubt feel shame deep and dreadful for some time. At any rate, I think the situation is clear. It was an experiment that ended poorly. Time to move on.

::sigh::

I hate looking around for apartments. I really do. I just want to find a decent place and settle down. I suppose I'll stay in Up Chuck since I don't have a full-time job to resettle for. Should I end up getting a new position that's opened with the Ports Authority, for example, I'd like to live in Mt. Pleasant so I can drive over the bridge to and from work everyday. Not like I can count on businesses for any quick decisions, though.

So, there you have it. It's generally pretty fun down here in Charleston, but this has really dampened my mood. Now I have to look for a (more expensive) place to stay along with my continuing search for better work. Great. Still, God will provide. That keeps me from worrying, but it's hard not to be frustrated. So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bash in some drywall with my forehead.

Damn it all.

Twilight out.

(Bebop reference in the rollover!)

Soulstruck

2006-08-07T15:08:00.000-04:00

Well, I thought "Contagion" would sound a bit too negative.

Here's a list of the things, mundane and extraordinary, abstract and concrete, that make me think of...

Becky:
-Little blue two-door Saturns
-Goo Goo Dolls
-My writing (or lack thereof)
-Dragonflies
-French
-Belgium
-Making things for presents
-Encouragement
-Asheville

Jeromie:
-Wild at Heart
-DCF
-Pretty Place(although Becky's wedding was the first time I'd heard of it, Jeromie's was the first time I'd been)
-Final Fantasy (you introduced me, dude)
-Cycling
-Photography
-Hiking
-Heck, any temporary obsession
-Metroid
-Dire Straights
-Disappearing Snack Food
-Audiophilia
-Holiness

Arnold:
-Red, white, and black used together and exclusively
-Fairy tales
-Tabletop gaming
-Super Smash Bros. Melee (though you're tied with Spautz in this)
-Soul Calibur
-Clay
-Woodworking (game-cabinet-making?)
-Costumes
-Jesters
-British humor
-Sarcasm
-Honesty. Brutal honesty.
-Voicing opinions
-Social butterfliery. Well, maybe mothery.
-Any use of the words Harlequin, Calibur, Arcadia, Fae, Faerie, or Bastard
-Busken
-Hot Topic
-Bed, Bath, and Beyond (I know this will upset a certain someone, so...)

Hope:
-Karaoke Revolution! (which this girl rocks at)

On to making more memories!

Twilight out.

Buh, buh, buh....

2006-08-01T16:32:00.000-04:00

Phew. For good or ill, I still feel like I'm trying to catch myself. I'm inclined towards the 'ill' camp, since I have loads of work left to do on my costume with less and less time to do it in.

This past weekend I went back to Denmark to help my parents move some of their furniture from their current house to the new one they had built in the woods. It's a nice house, and big. Considering that they also renovated our River house, Denmark might not be such a bad place to host large gatherings, should the need arise...

Ah, apartment news. Well, townhouse, actually. I had a couple of options, and I chose the little house in North Charleston (Up Chuck, as I like to say) with the art gallery manager/artist and his two cats. The room I have is pretty small, actually. I only signed on for 3 months, though. By then, I hope against hope to have a full-time job and the capacity to live alone. It has been my observation that time goes by pretty fast now.

A full-time job. I need more specific criteria than that. My boss has suggested looking into shipping companies, as the port does a lot of business with them (so I guess she'd know them well). Other than that, I suppose it's back to defining what I want to do. Or who would be most impressed by a Ports Authority internship, at least.

That's about it for this time. I need to go make some time to work on my outfit, but I do myself a disservice if I don't persue true employment as aggressively. With hope, nervous hope, I leave you.

Twilight out.

Tribulations of the Holy City

2006-07-26T15:17:00.000-04:00

He stumbled inside, panting. Without a wasted movement, he slammed the door and bolted it. He was still breathing hard as he walked slowly into the apartment. He stared in a daze, forgetting his shredded clothes, his cuts, and the dirt and sweat caked on his skin. He had made it. But for how long? It would all start again, eventually. Was there anything he could do? Then, he spotted the laptop and rememebered. Someone had to know. Ignoring the blood dripping onto the keyboard, he began typing...

Again I am guilty of being out of communication, but my reasons this time are a bit more forgivable: work. I'm an unofficial Charlestonian now (still need a place of my own), with all the merits and curses that come with it. On the plus side, I have friends nearby and things to do. Wonders! On the downside, I'm driving a lot. My car is beginning to feel like an excited dog who ignores you admonotions and knocks you down in order to lick your face or eat your hamburger. Or both.

My mornings are spent reading gas and electric meters all over Charleston. The only real downside is having to spend an extended amount of time in the muggy Charleston air. If the driving here doesn't kill you, the humidity will.

After that, I eat and shower, then head downtown for my much more enjoyable internship. It hasn't even been a full week yet, but I've already gotten to meet some new people and have an exciting project: a Ports Authority newsletter. There's already one newsletter, but it's only for employees. My boss, the director of Foreign Trade Zones, wants one to send out to her considerable e-mail list. She also keeps an ear out for any opportunities up my alley. Her previous intern was in a situation like mine, and got a job with IBM on her fist interview. Besides, I kind of like living in a nebulous web of possibility. It's like watching a thunderstorm roll in. At some point, you know lightning's going to strike.

So I'm busy for a change. Almost too busy. I have to get up early, so my nights are curtailed at 10ish, leaving me little time for extra projects. I'm making good progress on a costume for DragonCon, but it means sacrificing other things I want to do, like write. I have two story ideas, one I've started on, but since I've been a-costuming, I've hardly made any progress. Heck, I don't have any time to game, despite a hefty list of titles in my to-be-played qeue. Le sigh.

Right now I'm looking for a place to stay. Two of my potentials are thanks to the Ports Authority. One came way of a man I hit it off with at the SC World Trade Center open house that I went to with my PA boss, and the other is a friend of the former intern I mentioned. News on what I choose to come.

Well, that's about all I can think of to bring you up to date with the Life of Will. I think I'm in a good place, but I don't dare get complacent. Beauty and wonder must be chased.

Twilight out.

Glad to be Inconvenienced

2006-07-08T01:11:00.000-04:00

I saw Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth" today. To all who read this, and to all who might hear from those who do: see it. The trailer makes it out to be terrifying. It is not, unless you were somehow unaware of the human condition and how we have been impressing it upon our world. This movie gripped me, and moved me. I even found a new respect for Al Gore. How many movies can say that?

Oh, and Pirates of the Carribean 2 was fun. Weird, but fun.

Now I'm going to sleep, because I'm getting tired of fighting my own mind.

Twilight out.

Magnus Dei

2006-06-29T18:24:00.000-04:00

Will,

Good news! Give me a call tomorrow – I will be in and out of the office today to discuss you coming on board if you are still interested. Thanks.

Suzan E. Carroll-Ramsey
SC State Ports Authority

Almost 2 years to the day since I came back from the Peace Corps. Huh. Anyway, huzzah! It seems she finally cleared it with her boss. Now I just have to set up when I'll start my unpaid internship. I'm also going to try and get a part-time job on the side so I'll have at least some income. DragonCon is expensive, after all.

I had wanted to make this a double celebration by posting my first artwork to my deviantArt account and linking it here, but it seems that I don't have the proper USB cable that I thought I did for the scanner Jeromie gave me. Well, at least I have material for another post.

I'm glad that I'm drawing more of late. I still have trouble getting myself to experiment and worry less about the details, but its fun. I have some fun ideas in my head, too. First drawing, then writing? Let's hope so, because I need practice with both.

Becky's coming back to the States soon! I know she's probably reading this, but it's hard to contain my excitement. :)

And finally, since fortune has begun to favor me, I ask that you all wish for a little of it to visit upon Hope, who is waiting to hear about a job she interviewed for in Charleston. She's in much the same position I've been in, and I don't want anyone else to spend 2 years in limbo.

Twilight out.

Two Hearts, One Flesh

2006-06-20T15:30:00.000-04:00

You have all patiently indulged me, but now I will tell you all about...

JEROMIE'S WEDDING

Thank you, Imposing Voice

NO PROBLEM

I headed up to Clemson on Friday, stopping by Greenville to pick up my tux. Apparently, Peridot is a lime-green color and not a yellow. I feel let down by my birthstone.

I arrived at DCF just in time for the rehearsal dinner. I was a little out of it at first having just finished a 3-hour drive, but the constant joking of Lance, Cory, and Ed soon woke me up. It was also good to see the Rands again. It had been years since I last saw Jeromie's family, and the kids have gotten big. Jonathan's going to college in the fall! Crazy.

After the short rehearsal, we all went for dinner at Calhoun Corners. I must say, I was impressed. This was my first time there (indeed, I didn't know there WAS a restaurant past the train tracks of downtown Clemson). It was a fun and delicious evening, but nervousness hung in the air for everyone (except the groomsmen; we're too laid-back to let it bust our chill). Lance even streaked around the house in celebration of Jeromie's impending hitching. Fortunately, he was clothed by the time Jeromie's parents showed up for a brief visit.

The next morning we rose and donned our penguin suits. I rode with Lance, Jeromie, and Jonathan up to Pretty Place. We stopped at Camp Greenville to stretch our legs, and I got the chance to chat with Jeromie's dad about trying to find my true passions.

It was quite remarkable when we got there. I imagine that all of you reading this needn't hear my sentiments, but this was my first time at Pretty Place. I missed or wasn't invited to other weddings there, which, in afterthought, made this day all the more special.

Jeromie waited in the car until everyone was certain Liz was nowhere in sight; I laughed to myself at the cuteness of it. Ed got to work setting up sound and cameras while the rest of us wandered around trading jokes and looking sharp.

Then, it was time. When I heard Canon on guitar and dulcimer, I knew to get ready. The groomsmen walked in the family, then took our place at Jeromie's side (Cory Kalbaugh was the Best Man, for those wondering). It was hard for all us groomsmen not to stare at Jeromie as the bridesmaid came in. He was grinning in an almost palpable excitement. I found myself smiling in return and inwardly rejoiced that, for the first time, I truly shared the joy of a wedding (and I've even been a groomsmen before).

And down she came. Liz's face was colored with the same untameable happiness as Jeromie's, and my heart was so full as they came together that it was hard not to laugh in merriment. The usual wedding trappings followed, including an excellent message by the DCF preacher Winn Collier (who has a book out, actually) where he addressed each of them, identifying their personalities, their passions, and their faiths. However, the true melody of love rang out when they each, starting with Jeromie, read their own vows. I had proofread Jeromie's the night before, but watching both Liz and Jeromie's mother react while he promised to fight for his bride was something I hope I never forget. My heart went out to Liz when she began to read her vows through tears she had to fight back.

Meanwhile, we groomsmen were silently suffering as the sunlight bore down on our right feet, burning in cramped black leather. We all joined in on the song and the new couple took their own communion before exchanging rings and being presented to the world. The following bustle was unremarkable by wedding standards except for one moment amidst the commotion when the photographer wanted pictures of the bride and groom and Liz, without saying a word, grabbed her new husband's hand and stood there for a few moments with what J.K. Rowling would call a "hard, burning look."

The reception was in Brevard, NC, and I got to spend some quality time with old friends Ben and Heidi. To my utter astonishment, there were no meatballs. I mean, what wedding reception doesn't have meatballs? Cake was cut, about 6 toasts were made, and the new Mr. and Mrs. Rand made their escape. The groomsmen managed to paint their car with shaving cream in time with such classics as "We're wed," "Two randy peeps," "Lizeromie," and "We're about to get it on."

After the reception, I went with Lance, Ed, and the other Rand children to a nearby bar to watch the U.S./Italy World Cup match. Such a shame...

I kept the kids entertained for the rest of the night while Lance took a nap and Ed went... somewhere. We explored the woods behind what once was Jeromie's house and waded through a river. It was an uncommonly enjoyable evening. Even eating lunch with the family the next day was fun. I just love that family!

I left late that afternoon, but not before listening to Ed, Lance, Jonathan, and Jeromie's mother debate when Jeromie and Liz would actually get around to having sex. I swear, she has to be the coolest mom ever.

And now they are enjoying the jungles of Costa Rica. A hot and steamy honeymoon for a cute and honorable, and a little reserved, courtship. I think perhaps the best way to sum up the weekend is what Winn said at the reception. For those who don't know, Jeromie has been interested in Liz for some years. When he first pursued her, she wasn't interesting in a relationship. They then built a friendship through DCF and house church until Jeromie approached her again with better results. I remember getting an e-mail from him when they started dating that said simply, "She said yes." Winn recapped this, although more briefly. Jeromie saw a woman worth fighting for, and he sought her. When turned away, he didn't give up. He came back, and slowly won her heart.

Never have I been prouder than this weekend to know Jeromie Robert Rand, my brother in Christ, and a man.

Twilight out.

Untitled

2006-06-16T21:25:00.000-04:00

Arnold put this up on his blog, and as I have a certain affection for things like this (I just like to be the center of attention, I think), I will post it here...

1. Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. When and how did we meet?
4. Do you have a crush on me?
5. Would you kiss me?
6. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
7. Describe me in one word.
8. What was your first impression?
9. Do you still think that way about me now?
10. What reminds you of me?
11. If you could give me anything what would it be?
12. How well do you know me?
13. When's the last time you saw me?
14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
15. Are you going to put this on your blog and see what I say about you?

In other news, I got an offer to work for another concrete cutting company last week, but also got a unofficial offer for an internship at the SC Ports Authority that same day. I turned down the concrete position, despite it being an actual job, as the potential to work for the lady in charge of Foreign Trade Zones seemed more in line with my skillset. Besides, concrete cutting would look weird next to the rest of the stuff on my resume. So here's hoping for an internship miracle.

Comment away! Tell me things I didn't know (or would like to hear)!

Twilight out.

A Canvas of Suffering

2006-06-11T00:26:00.000-04:00

Someone must write of what happened two weekends ago before it fades into obscurity. Someone must bear witness to the deeds done that day. That long, hot day.

On the weekend June 3, I traveled to Clemson to participate in a very special event: Jeromie's Bachelor Party. The featured activity? Paintball. No ordinary paintball, mind you. This was paintball for men. With slingshots.

What? Yes.

Slingshots? Indeed.

While those around us shouldered their clunky gas-powered weapons, we strode into the field of battle armed only with surgical-grade rubber and the strength of our arms. It was a mixture of childlike fun with adult pain. While people like Lance and Cory racked up the kills, Arnold and I formed the self-appointed "Fodder", lifting cries of self-sacrifice as we charged into the maddened horde.

After we cleaned up, we went for barbeque and then Frankie's, where slicktrack drifting and miniature golf rounded off the day. Later on, a bruised and tired entourage relaxed on Jeromie's deck with beer and laughter. None of us had trouble getting to sleep.

And now there's less than a week until Jeromie ties the knot. Madness! I honestly don't know how I'm going to feel this weekend. It will be strange, for sure.

As for the time surrounding this past weekend, I went down to Charleston Wednesday for a seminar on Thursday about Foreign Trade Zones. It was mildly interesting, although mostly irrelevant for someone without a specific need to know about them. I went at the suggestion of the Director of the SC World Trade Center. I talked to a few people, as was my goal, and even handed out a resume. We'll see what happens, but so far my networking has been successful.

After the conference I went for a walk downtown. I took a table in a coffee shop with some iced Oregon Chai and started small-talk with a man next to me. As we were talking, his rather attrative daughter with cold eyes walked in. When I mentioned that I had studied French, I rather abrubtly learned that she was fluent. We exchanged a few phrases, and the two of them parted. I felt a cold panic the whole time I spoke with her, afraid of not understanding her or knowing how to say what I wanted. Yes, this boy needs to practice speaking his French. I'm not terrible, so why shouldn't I try to be fluent? Becky?

Oh, yes. Arnold got two new games: Paper Mario-the Thousand Year Door and Kirby Air Ride. Air Ride is lots of fun, and quirky to boot, but Paper Mario was the big surprise. To Arnold, specifically, as he didn't realize when he got it that is was an RPG, and he doesn't play RPGs. Or he didn't use to. :)

Turning to more serious matters, my OCD has started to surge recently. On many recent evenings, I'll start to experience a 'funk'. I described it to Jeromie as feeling like someone's watching you (except that you know they're only in your head), and knowing that if you show any weakness, they will devour you. Rather disconcerting. It also makes me feel like all the things in my life, and often my life itself, are meaningless. I'm going to try readjusting my schedule under the supposition that perhaps the gap between the times I take my medicine is allowing for these swings. If that doesn't help, it's back to my creepy shrink.

Oh, before I forget. I watched "Good Night and Good Luck" while I was up at Clemson. For those who are familiar with Edward R. Murrow, you'll excuse my fawning over his masterful articulation and the artistry with which he spoke. For those who aren't familiar, I suggest a rental. It's short, but the writing's good.

Update: completed
Footer image: loading
Awesomeness: intact
Twilight: out

Oh, the humidity!

2006-05-29T22:16:00.000-04:00

I've been out there. Out there where men don't go, not men what have something to live for. You can say what you will, but those of us who've had a taste ourselves aren't taken to puffing our chests. Don't serve you nothing. Truth be told, I wouldn't have gone myself if I didn't have to. But I did. And I came back.

There are folk who think it hits you all at once, like that waitress who heard one too many a flattering word. I suppose sometimes it does. Take too fiery a step, and you might find yourself on your back not wanting to get up. It can be strange like that. It'll start out coming in quick, and just when you think you've got it figured, it'll wait a bit. Lets you feel like you might have it beat.

Mind what I'm telling you, friend. You don't go out if there's a way around it, honest or otherwise. It's no place to be. You hear of it, you run. You feel it coming, you hide. And if you're of the unlucky sort that can't get away, you fight your way out and pray you never have to go back.

Honestly, can't we give all this extra moisture to those who might want it? I doubt Australia would mind.

So, I saw "Over the Hedge" about a week ago. Decent movie, I guess. Got a few laughs from me. But the previews disturbed me. Not in the usual way that makes me wonder if, like cartoons from my childhood, I've begun to finally see how many movies suck. No, this was a specific disappointment in the American animation industry. You see, over half of the previews were for animated movies, but not one was drawn. It was all CG, and I find that very sad. I can appreciate the great strides achieved in computer graphics, and how efficient it's become to use for movies, but I dearly, dearly hope it's just a fad. Judging by the previews, none of the movies seem particularly creative or meant for more than pushing merchandise. What Pixar started, everyone has copied. Disney shut down it's main animation studio, for crying out loud! I can't see it as a financial issue, either. The Japanese have digitized traditional animation, sinking its cost and flooding anime fans with new show after new show. They even incorporate computer graphics in very impressive ways (see "Wonderful Days", "Last Exile", and most anything by Gonzo). Only SquareEnix really seems to have embraced the all-digital route, and that's only been for squeezing extra Yen from Final Fantasy fanboys (although the success of Appleseed raises concern).

I think there's a certain magic in hand-drawn animation. An extra degree of artistry that helps suspend disbelief and draw you into the fantasy of the story. It's sentimental, I know, but so am I, and there's something romantic about characters that only ever exist in a sketchbook and, with a little luck, your heart.

I'm really starting to like dog-girls...

Twilight out.

The Lament of the Aefwulf

2006-05-14T23:28:00.000-04:00

This past week has been interesting. For example, on Tuesday I started a job, and on Thursday morning I quit. It was a job going door-to-door doing sales for Bellsouth, so I will assume my displeasure comes as no surprise. I did learn a few things from the experience, though. Primarily that I'm absolutely ill-suited to sales, but also that the transition into the working life, and really into any other type of life will not be an easy one. I must be prepared even as I persevere.

On another note, I finished the River article I put up here previously and have submitted it to a contest with Writer's Digest. Winners to be announced in October. Grr. Anyway, here it is. I'll warn you, not much has changed.

Spending summer after summer on the banks of the Edisto River will do things to you. Strange things. You start to think of the musk of old houses and nearby swamps as the smell of home. You also find that, as the Edisto is a ‘black’ river, no water is too dark for you to swim in anymore. Even a trip to the beach is different. After being surrounded by trees and birds and having to navigate a current whenever you swim, the beach seems a little… boring. Time on the river was such a part of my life as a child that even today I can hardly imagine a fulfilling summer without ice-cold swims, walking past walls of trees, and lazy afternoon float-downs.

It all began on a nondescript stretch of South Carolina Road 70 where two curved brick walls guard the turn into the Denmark Country Club. Its members, who include my parents and those of my friends, built houses along the riverbank. When they started to have families, they were able to share their love of the Edisto with a new generation. It became an affection so deep that even when people move away, it seems that at some point, like a pining lover, the Edisto calls us back.

Before my friends and I arrived on the scene, I don’t doubt that our parents already had a ritual for moving out to the River. Whatever it may have been, the migration from town to country changed to accommodate a school schedule. Through autumn, winter, and spring, the houses would sit, gathering dust and leaves. Then, an exodus every summer would turn our sleepy retreat into a playground for young and old.

And play we did. Looking back, I’m impressed with how much my friends and I were able to find to fill our days. Give children water and woods, and the possibilities are endless. We swam, hunted for turtles, molded river clay, played in the sand, and, when we were old enough, took to exploring up and down the bends of the River in motorboats. Even our parents, most of whom still worked during the day, found a new vigor. Fathers and mothers who used to come home tired from a day’s work would walk in smiling on the group of barefoot, swimsuit-clad children that had invaded their house. I think there was something almost pastoral about life at the River that the adults found relaxing. The River was meant to be an escape, a life of enjoying your friends and family in full Southern splendor.

It wasn’t always just our immediate community, either. Every summer saw visiting friends or relatives coming to enjoy our laid-back oasis, with two occasions in particular seeing the greatest immigration. The first was Vacation Bible School, led by our pastor and the women of our church at the beginning of June. Such programs are held all over the state, but in addition to songs, crafts, and worship, we had lots of swimming. To be honest, we were more interested in the swimming than the worship. Still, we were the products of church-going families, and inaugurating each summer with songs of praise was as natural to our Southern souls as swimming in water stained the color of sweet tea.

The other big event for us was Independence Day. While the mothers led Bible School, the dads captained celebrations for the 4th. Four or five pigs would be put to roast all night on a car-sized grill with Budweiser-armed sentries to keep watch, and an arsenal of fireworks was readied by an army of children in every bedroom of every house. Each day approaching the 4th was a trial of patience only eased by the fashioning of bottle rocket launchers (steel pipes always worked best.) I was in the fortunate position to see how the adults celebrated, since my parents hosted a 4th of July party every year. Whenever I finished blowing things up with my friends, I came back to find all the adults I knew engaged in the most confusing pastime a child can witness: sitting and talking.

Perhaps my fondest memories of the River are the afternoons of quietly exploring its bends in a canoe. Just as the River was an escape from normal life, taking canoe trips further up and down its length was a respite from the chatter of excited toddlers and the ‘whoosh’ of passing cars. When I was still a beginner with a canoe, it was frightening trying to navigate both the current and the occasional fallen tree. After enough trips, though, I was able to appreciate the unassuming beauty of unspoiled nature. With the sunlight sparkling on the brown currents and shimmering in the leaves, it almost felt like an intrusion to break the surface of the waters with my paddle.

When I write of the River like this, I know that my memories have faded a bit. The happiness they brought to my younger self has filled in the gaps of my recollection like young roots spreading through a soft soil, and I’m not one to complain. It suffuses my thoughts with a warmth and glow not unlike how you feel when you hear a beautiful song for the first time. Still, walking barefoot circuits past quiet houses on warm summer evenings is romantic to remember, but it was just another day to the boy in my memories. I suppose it’s the way of growing up.

As the years of my childhood came to a close, it wasn’t long before life started to become more complicated. Summers became filled with camps and the encroaching responsibilities of high school. Soon enough, I had discovered computers, and the phosphorous glow of a monitor was more attractive than the sunlight falling through the leaves. I miss those days as anyone misses innocent days gone by, but I am careful not to be too enamored with the past. The River still flows, after all, and a boy with the waters of the Edisto in his veins can hardly afford to stay still, or stop dreaming, for long.

I'll try sending it other places soon, but first I shall breathe a sigh of relief and accomplishment that it's done. It wasn't as hard as I thought, actually. Now I just need something else to write about.

Oh, yes. This is freaking awesome. No, the goggles aren't required for viewing; they're to protect from vagrant lasers. They're working on making it safer, but they've done it! Future here we come!

That's about it for now.
Edit: Thanks to Arnold's observation, I have provided a link to the amusing picture, instead.

Twilight out.

That's what I call getting some tail.

Colbert Rapport

2006-04-30T23:09:00.000-04:00

Steven Colbert baffles me. I understand that means little to most of you (yes, all three of you who read this), since I'm the only one who actually watches the Daily Show and the Colbert Report. Ever since he began to helm his own show, I've been trying to find my bearings with him.

For example, the other night I watched an episode on Nova called "The Dimming Sun" about how particulates released into the atmosphere have been mitigating the effects of CO2 and global warming, making the real effects much worse than we thought should the particulates disappear. It frightened me. The next day, the Colbert Report makes it a centerpiece, and Steven's stance? Suck it, Earth. He has firmly established the image of a Bible-thumping ultra-conservative, but I don't buy it. He makes so little sense oftentimes that it's comical, and being a comedian, I assume that's what he's shooting for.

To be honest, I'm disappointed. I've gotten used to Jon Stewart, who presents satire but will often break down into laughter himself over the jokes he makes. That lets me identify with him, and I can see that behind his jokes, he has opinions and a personality. Colbert, on the other hand, has gone full-theater and adopted a persona that I don't know is real or not.

I have a theory, though. You see, Comedy Central already has a satirical news show, so Steven doesn't play up that angle. Instead, he pokes fun at another institution of mass media: the pundit. He plays the true fool, seeking laughs at his own expense in order to hint at the ridiculousness around him.

Or perhaps I give him too much credit. There are many who would say I already give this too much thought. It has bothered me, even while I laughed.

In an unrelated note (unless you follow the contorted pathways of my synapses), I found this most spiffy. It was on Free Energy News, which truthfully out to be called Alternative Energy News. I love stuff like this. Clever mechanisms, especially mechanical, appeal to me. I have an admiration and love for what you might call Self-Adjusting Systems. Like the various systems of the body, and how they self-regulate and even repair themselves in varying conditions. To get that from a system without a programmed central controller (i.e.-the brain) requires a good deal of cleverness, and will earn you as much acclaim from me.

On the other end of the Alternative Energy spectrum is stuff like this. Am I skeptical? You bet. Would I buy the stuff to try it? Yup. It's recent resurgence of popularity due to a certain man being 'approached' and 'threatened' to stop working on it makes me more than a little suspicious, especially since I knew of it before the 'publicity stunt'. Once I get a stable source of income, though, what's the harm in seeing if there's anything behind all the people who have supposedly made it work?

After all, my flight suit plans require two key components: a propellant-less method of generating force, and a compact power source of sufficient energy density. Both tall orders, but I have tall dreams.

Right now, I need to look a little lower and get a job first.

Twilight out.

Post-Script: Do I use 'but', 'though', and 'however' too much?

A Move Towards Courtesy

2006-04-17T11:58:00.000-04:00

And away from rants about bowel movements. It is 'Classic Will' to take a certain pleasure and pride in the tolerating disgust of friends to my practiced crudeness. Still, I should be more considerate. No one really wanted to read that, did they? Didn't think so.

I promised a post soon, and I shall deliver. I was going to post a first draft of an article I've been working on about my life growing up on the Edisto River. I've made some good progress, but it isn't quite done yet. It still needs a proper ending and probably some more embellishment. I'll give you what I have right now, if only to save you from having to cast shuddering glances to the previous post. Feedback is welcome, but bear in mind that I'm in the middle of heavy editing and rewriting.

"Spending summer after summer on the banks of the Edisto River will do things to you. Strange things. For instance, you start to think of the musk of old houses and nearby swamps as the smell of home. You also find that, as the Edisto is a ‘black’ river, no water is too dark for you to swim in anymore. Even a trip to the beach is different. After being surrounded by trees and birds and having to navigate a current whenever you swim, the beach seems a little… boring. Time on the river was such a part of my life as a child that even today I can hardly imagine a fulfilling summer without ice-cold swims, canoeing past walls of trees, and lazy afternoon float-downs.

It all began on a nondescript stretch of SC Road 70 off of Highway 601 south of Orangeburg where two curved brick walls guard the turn into the Denmark Country Club. Its members, who include my parents and those of my friends, built houses along the river’s bank. When they started to have families, they were able to share their love of the Edisto with a new generation. There are numerous such communities set up on the Edisto’s length, but you know what they say about first impressions. The Edisto’s was indelible.

Before my friends and I arrived on the scene, I don’t doubt that our parents already had a ritual for moving out to the river. Whatever it may have been, the migration from town to country changed to accommodate an elementary school’s schedule. Through autumn, winter, and spring, the houses would sit, gathering dust and leaves. Then, a yearly exodus every summer would turn our sleepy retreat into a playground for young and old.

And play we did. Looking back, I’m impressed with how much my friends and I were able to find to fill our days. Give children water and woods, and the possibilities are endless. We swam, canoed, hunted for turtles, molded river clay, played in the sand, and, when we were old enough, took to exploring up and down the bends of the river in motorboats. Even our parents, most of whom still worked during the day, found a new vigor. Fathers and mothers who used to come home tired from a day’s work would walk in smiling on the group of barefoot, swimsuit-clad children that had invaded their house. I think there was something almost pastoral about life at the river that the adults found relaxing. The River was meant to be an escape, a life of enjoying your friends and family. Who wouldn’t oblige?

It wasn’t always just our immediate community, either. Every summer saw visiting friends or relatives coming to enjoy our laid-back oasis, usually on one or both of two occasions in particular. The first was Vacation Bible School, led by our pastor and the women of our church at the beginning of June. Such programs are held all over the state, but in addition to songs, crafts, and worship, we had lots of swimming. To be honest, we were more interested in the swimming than the worship. It’s the way of children, I suppose. Yet we were still children of church-going families, and inaugurating each summer with songs of praise was as natural to our Southern souls as swimming in a river stained the color of sweet tea.

The other big event for us was Independence Day. While the mothers led Bible School, the dads captained celebrations for the 4th. Four or five pigs would be put to roast all night on a car-sized grill with Budweiser-armed sentries to keep watch. An arsenal of fireworks was readied by an army of children in every bedroom of every house. Every day approaching the 4th was a trial of patience only eased by the fashioning of bottle rocket launchers (steel pipes always worked best.) I was also in the fortunate position to see how the adults celebrated, since my parents hosted a 4th of July party every year. Whenever I finished blowing things up, I came back to find all the adults I knew engaged in the most confusing pastime a child can witness: sitting and talking.

When I write of the River like this, I know that my memories have faded a bit. The happiness they brought to my younger self, though, is undiminished. It suffuses my recollections with a warmth and glow not unlike how you feel when you hear a beautiful song for the first time. But nostalgia is often lost on a child. Walking barefoot circuits past quiet houses on warm summer evenings is romantic to remember, but as a child, it’s the way of the world. I never imagined how precious each wooded bend on every sunset float-down would end up being to me."

Like I said, no real ending yet. I'm also still trying to think of who I would send this in to. The magazine 'South Carolina' is a strong contender, but I've already seen an article in a previous issue about spending the summers of youth on a body of water. I also found that they prepare each issue 6 months in advance. I'd still try, but my hopes for them are somewhat diminished.

On a different note, I am captivated by Vienna Teng's song, "Gravity." I discovered it by way of an anime music video (and a good one, at that), so that's a big part of the impact. I still bought it on iTunes, though, and everytime I listen to those soft pianos and mournful strings, it's like drinking a sunset from the cusp of the horizon. Would that be MacLaughlan-esque? She certainly sings with the same sultry whispers.

Twilight out.

Holy Crap! He Posted Again!

2006-04-11T17:56:00.000-04:00

I found this little index card in the plastic bin of things I had made months and months ago when I had thought I'd be moving out sometime soon. Ah, the folly of youth. At any rate, I found it amusing and nostalgic. It was slid under the door to me from Jeromie during our wonderful days in Lightsey:

Will I just want you to know that talking to people on the phone while taking a dump is just WRONG. Please, please, please never make a business call like that. I've heard it done before. It's just not cool.
P.S. Oh, or a girl. Tell me that wasn't a girl...

It was. If I remember right, I think it was Becky. Don't you feel special now! Would I do it again? Oh, yeah. In fact, I'm pretty sure I have. Multiple times. Admittedly, I'm a little hesitant nowadays. My sits are a little more... explosive. I don't think it'd be hard to blow my cover.

This has been your moment of TMI. Everyone enjoy your dinners.

(Don't worry, a real post is coming soon.)

Twilight out.

Son of Photopost

2006-03-29T17:48:00.000-05:00

Two months of silence. Wow. That's impressive, in a way. And no, I don't feel ashamed or guilty for not having updated. It's rather refreshing. My life has been far from interesting the past two months, so there's been nothing to report or talk about. But today, thar be piccies!

This is from a recent bouldering outing to North Carolina I went on with Jeromie, his fiancé Liz, and Jeromie's roommate Lance. I was rendered out of commission for the first half of the day due to an unexpectedly difficult hike to the rocks and the lack of an asthma breather to loosen my subsequently tightened chest. I did, however, manage to get some decent shots of everyone else enjoying themselves and pushing their bodies.

Enjoy the pain(especially if you don't have broadband).

Trying out my camera as we started out. We're off to a great start.

Jeromie trying his luck on a particularly difficult wall, while Liz captures his posterior, uh, posterity.

Liz, this time, in her trusty red vest and blue jeans. Perfect for the girl who wants to get away from it all and hug a rock.

Jeromie climbing to the encouragement of Lance. That or he's escaping. I was far away.

Some guys on a boulder near us. A fine display of digital strength here.

Liz looking down on the rest of us. Yes, that was a double meaning. Do I have to spell everything out?

Liz, relaxing with while watching the guys climb. Posture, girl!

Lance showing us how it's done. And he kept showing. And showing.

Jeromie, prairie dog of the appalachians.

Liz, assisting. Lance, getting photographic proof. Sorry, there's already been a butt joke.

Jeromie surveying his next challenge. The sunglasses hide the tears.

Jeromie mounting the beast.

Jeromie grabbing a crevace in the beast's firm haunch.

Jeromie, victorious, and the beast submits.

The three of them practiced climbing from a prone position to hone their skills. Just looked painful to me.

See

what

I

mean?

I believe the title of this picture speaks for itself.

We stopped at a pizza place for a relaxing dinner. At least SOMEONE noticed the camera.

It's almost like you can FEEL his pores.

Well, that's the trip! At least from behind my camera lens. I hope you enjoyed it, and maybe, just maybe, I'll have another post before another two months are out.

Twilight out.

Child of Twilight and Dreams

2006-01-27T20:24:00.000-05:00

When I was young, there was a family that lived close to mine. There was an older brother about the age of my own, and a younger sister about mine. My brother and I used to spend time with them, wandering around our block and through our tiny woods playing pretend and having fun. They moved away to a town not very distant and I didn't see them for some time. When they returned to our church years later(since they still had many friends there), the brother was strong and kind and the sister was beautiful and sweet. I tell you all this because the sister was part of a very precious memory of mine, one that reminds me of who I've always wanted to be.

It was during the summer, and the children of my community were enjoying an afternoon at the Crestwood golf club pool. I was in the shallow end with aforementioned friend, and we somehow started pretending that I was rescuing her. I picked her up in my arms (not hard to do in water) and began to carry her to "safety"- the steps into the pool. Others began to laugh at us, but although we were embarassed by them, I don't remember feeling ashamed of what we were playing at. It may have looked funny, but I was a hero in that pool, if only for a few make-believe moments. And it felt good.

I've often wondered if my romantic tendencies were born from watching those classic Disney movies(it's out generation that saw them in the theater!), or if they just fueled them. I tend to believe in the latter, since our tastes reflect just as much about who we are as what we see. That being said, I still wonder who I am. Animation, romance, pretty pictures, a weakness for the wistful and melancholic... what do these say about me? One of my many quirks is that I feel like my life is a story. That is, I feel like part of me is living my life and the other part is watching it go by, with some guesses about where it's headed. Like Spike from Cowboy Bebop, I feel like my life is a dream, and I wonder how many other people feel that way(because why put it in the show if people can't relate?). I daydream of fantastic achievements, longing for the day when they might come to pass. It's what keeps me going, sometimes. What are they, you ask? Well, let me tell you...

I do have simple dreams. Such as being a writer. That's a simple dream, right? I'd like to find the discipline to hone all of my artistic interests: writing, drawing, sculpting, playing a pennywhistle, and maybe even writing music (or lyrics, at least). These are the hobbies and skills that are nearest to hand; the ones that are acheivable by the most common measure. The thing that bothers me is why I have to make myself do them, as I don't often seem to enjoy them for their own sake. I've known for a while that I write best when I'm happy, but that's not a dependable condition. I've wanted to give up writing this post, even. It's something I'll have to figure out. It might even be the key to understanding something very important about myself.

Other dreams of mine aren't so simple; indeed, they might not even be achievable, but I still hold on to them. Like a flying suit. I have laid my own claim to man's longing for flight, with a few distinctions. When I say a flying suit, I mean just that: a suit that will provide directable force without blades, wings, or rockets. The little-known and controversial field of electrostatic propulsion would provide the means, but the force and speeds I want would require a lot of work and experimentation. According to what I've read, it requires tens of thousands of volts to move a small mass. I don't know the technical specifics, but once I have a job and money to spend on experiements, I'll have a better idea.

The other requirement for the flying suit is itself another dream of mine: a small but high-capacity energy source. Cold fusion or perhaps even fuel cells could possibly work, but I'm more interested in free energy. Radiant energy receivers, actually. There are plenty of ideas that have been shown to be frauds, but I still hold out hope. Perhaps a false one, but at least I can recognize the possiblity.

The full development of a flying suit described above would open up myriad opportunities. Flying cars. Independent energy production for families and businesses. Easy access to space. Extraterrestrial colonization. Hehe. I feel like a kid writing this down. In many ways, I still am. I realized the other day that when people see me, they see an adult. It's certainly different from my point of view.

That brings me to the most outlandish, the most audacious and incredible dream of mine. It's born directly from the book "The Millenial Foundation," which a friend of mine bought in high school and I skimmed through. It outlines 8 steps to turn humanity into a space-faring, galaxy-colonizing species, in only 1000 years. The first step, though, is what really fascinated me. It was called Aquarius, and it described the building of floating cities in the oceans. A ship, it was suggested, would go into international waters and use the ocean's minerals to build a kind of concrete, called seacrete. This would form the structure of the city, and algae farming-specifically spirulina-would provide its food. Eventually, sovereignity would be declared, and the spirulina would be used to feed the hungry and the profits from food and power sales used to further space exploration.

I suppose this appeals to the Utopian in me. The belief that a world can be made where the hungry are fed and things previously thought impossible would come to life. That's why I call it the most outlandish of my fantasies. There is no Utopia, not in this life. But I still can't help wanting to make a place where things are beautiful and dreams are free.

In none of this, you may have noticed, have I mentioned God. Rest assured, that disturbs me. I read the blogs of friends like Laura and Jeromie and see such hearts devoted to working the will of God. Here, I talk only of one will. My will. This shames me, but I yet sense that the path to knowing God is not through shame and guilt. Because of them, I have kept God at arm's length, refusing to accept the deep truth of Grace. Indeed, failing to understand it.

Yet I can still see his hand, I think. When I went before the Ports Authority police to interview for a position in law enforcement, I found myself in a place I never would have guessed. Law enforcement has never been on my list of possibilities. And yet, here I am, calling in my desire to take the position and see where it leads. I expect to hear good news back from the Ports Authority, if for no other reason than such a turn in fate is too strange to me not to occur. If not, then another unseen path will probably open up. I serve a wild God, and even these far-fetched dreams are tame to Him.

Whatever the course, I remind myself that I must perservere. It is my style to give up and give in. To accept nothingness and try to sleep my cares away. But if I do that, then dreams will stay dreams, and I'll only be a hero in make-believe.

Twilight out.

Morning sickness

2006-01-09T12:58:00.000-05:00

So I woke up this morning with a racing pulse. Seriously, it was like I was being chased by some malicious beast instead of lying in my bed. I was close to having a panic attack. I went, trembling, to my bathroom, feeling that maybe it was some sort of food poisoning and remembering how throwing up can do wonders in helping you feel better. I eventually succeeded, although I had to gag myself, and I started feeling better. I'm over it now, but I still don't know why it happened. That scares me. I mean, I'm used to mild stress and feelings of worthlessness mixed in with despair over a meaningless existence, but that has never caused my heart to race. I'm still thinking it's something I ate.

So, to sum up: the body is better now, but the mind and spirit are still a little messed up. Updates on that later.

Twilight out.

Why do I keep saying yes to telemarketers?

2005-12-07T11:18:00.000-05:00

Oh, right, because I'm a spineless twit (and because I have problems saying no). I ought to remember that by now. Hell, I get telemarketers on my blog whenever I make a new post. I must be a succulent piece of marketing ass or something.

But I'll bet they know it! They know people don't like to say no over the phone! Those cock gobblers!

I do pity telemarketers, though. Not the companies, but the actual people. Those must be some suck-ass jobs.

Oh, well.

Viva la angst!

These Dreams

2005-11-16T16:48:00.000-05:00

Very well, Arnold. I will post in order to keep you from falling asleep on the job (though I imagine it to be a task far greater than any mortal man can achieve).

I shall speak today of a recurring dream I have sometimes. It isn't a specific dream, but rather a theme. I've been having them every so often ever since I entered college, and I'm curious what thoughts or emotions underlie them.

The dream always involves me being back in high school. Sometimes its my high school, and other times it's a strange distortion of what my high school was like. There are some constants, however. For one, I am always taking a select few classes that I need to graduate, almost as if I'm returning to finish high school. Secondly, I'm usually aware that I have already graduated from college (or, while I was in college, that I had already graduated from high school). It was this realization that always upset the me in my dream. I would ask myself and those around me, "What am I doing here?! I'm not supposed to be here! I don't need this anymore!" I always had the feeling of not just being held back, but of regressing. It was suffocating! And then I would wake, never having achieved any resolution.

Well, it's been some time since I had one of those dreams. I still wonder about them, and sometimes I wish I remembered more of the dreams I had during the night (not the dreams you have when you wake up and go back to sleep. Those are easy to remember. And usually really weird in my case.)

Well, there ya go. An update, plus a little insight into that thing called Will.

Twilight Out.

::yawn::

2005-10-23T22:19:00.000-04:00

What do I have to write about? Um, I'm going to take a postal exam up in Greenville to see if I can land a job with the Post Office up there. You know, good pay, great benefits, etc. I've also applied to many places but haven't heard back from anyone. In fact, I called one place back last week and they said they hadn't begun looking at the applications.

::shrug::

I'm getting used to listlessness. You know how it feels when you wake up in the evening after an afternoon nap? Like you've been wearing the same clothes for days? That's kind of how I feel.

Um... yeah. I don't feel like whining, so I'll just leave it at that and wait until I have something worth posting to post again.

Twilight Out.

Movin' on up

2005-10-07T13:56:00.000-04:00

Jeromie and I were talking about our earlier days in undergrad at Clemson the other day, and it got me to thinking about those shining, happy times. In particular, I remembered a girl in one of my French classes whom I found to be both particularly attractive and sweet. I had little to no conversations with this girl because of my shyness, but I still wondered what became of her. I idly typed her name into a Google search, and was soon amazed at the results.

Well, I wasn't amazed at first. All I found intially were forum threads and indirect references that suggested she had gone into fashion. I didn't really know her at Clemson, so there was no surprise in learning this. But everything I read spoke of her so highly. It seemed like she had done very well for herself. VERY well. But was it really her, I wondered? Then I did an image search, and found her. A single entry that comfirmed my amazement as justified.

Look for yourself. (The second entry.)

Two years. She had hardly left Clemson! And now she's a rising star of the fashion world. As much as I talk about dreams, and passions, and fancies, here is a girl who acted on hers and is now living it. Can I help but be impressed?

Can I help but be ashamed?

The answer is no, of course. And even if it weren't entirely justified, I would still be ashamed, because I expect wonders from myself (though I am learning to hold back the whip from myself and trust in the One who made me for a purpose). This post was not written about me, though. This post is for Holly, and for all those incredible people who don't distinguish dreams from reality. What they long for, they do, and draw us in their wake, eyes wide and mouths open.

Maybe I'm just suffering from having someone I know meet with widespread acclaim. Like the famous character in movies who meets up with a stranger only to find that they were in a class together back in high school. Or college, as the case is here.

So, to Holly: You don't remember me, I expect, but I have remembered you. You impressed me once, and you do so again. Way to go. You are an inspiration (and you still have a lovely smile).

Twilight out.

A Tale of Autumn

2005-09-22T15:48:00.000-04:00

Whew, made it just in time for the first day of autumn. I much prefer 'autumn' to 'fall', by the way.

She waded through the tall grass of the field, catching wandering scents and glimmers of light from the sun setting behind the trees. She thought about the long summer, and all the fun she had had playing with child and adult alike. They had all grown so much in recent years. The children were becoming adults, and the adults were becoming wiser. She smiled as she thought of them, and wondered what they thought of her when she reappeared every spring and left at the end of every summer. She hadn't told them, of course. She had tried once long ago, but it had only complicated things. Instead, she told the people of this village that she was a simple noblewoman who liked to escape her estate and duties for part of the year. They seemed to like that, actually. Whenever other visitors came into the village, she sometimes overheard them bragging about the Lady that had fallen for their home.

Leaving was always bittersweet. Not that she minded. She lived for poignency and for the flow of strong emotion. She was riding the current now as she stepped into the woods and her sadness melted away. As she walked, the trees made their obediences to her with waving branches. The pines shook their lower limbs until the ground stretching in front of her was carpeted with needles that had never gotten enough light. She bowed her head in thanks and walked deeper in the shadows of her domain.

The fading sun was finding it more and more difficult to reach her as she traveled deeper into the forest. Fireflies began to gather around her until her way was lit by thousands of tiny lights. She walked her timeless path while other animals gathered around her, careful not to block her way. Some of the larger ones moved aside fallen trees or broken branches to make sure she didn't have to slow her pace. She smiled and petted the heads of a few young and excited foxes. She knew these creatures had been waiting anxiously for her, and even the most stately among them had to contain their pleasure. Everytime she went out into the human world, she would ask them not to greet her like this if she ever came into the forest. Humans liked to ask questions, and a crowd of wolves or bears vying for a chance to lick her face would raise quite a few.

She noticed someone approaching her from the shadows. She knew who it was even before she saw the high collar, the calm face, and the stately walk. He came up to her and walked at her side.

"Greetings to you, Temperance," she said brightly.

"My Lady," he said softly with a bow of his head, "How fare the mortals?"

"Very well. As full of life and wonder as with worry and sorrow, and ever fascinating. You usually meet me at the edge of the wood. Did you just now wake?" she said with a merry giggle.

"Hardly, My Lady," he responded, allowing a small smirk to her comment, "I spent most of the day at the celebration. I needed some air, so I went for a walk when evening came. A long walk. They are still partying, you know."

She laughed, "As to be expected from the Merry Siblings. I suppose that explains why the animals seem more excited than normal to see me. It has been a long, hot summer, hasn't it?"

"Indeed," he answered.

As they walked onward, the sounds of singing and music came floating through the trees. The fireflies flew off to join the unearthly glow ahead of them while the trees were swaying with the music. They came to a wall of hedges that parted before them and they walked into the heart of the celebration.

"Sister!" cried a capering girl in brilliant clothes who skipped over to greet the new arrivals. She glowed with excitement and mirth. "We've been waiting for you! Oh, this is such a day! Yes! A special party for today, oh yes! Come! Come! You must join me in a dance!"

She agreed to only one dance, which the girl would hear nothing of. When she bowed out, though, she wondered if the girl even noticed with the fun she was having. She noticed her brother, on the edge of the party and alone. Just how he liked it. He saw her, as well, and affected a weak smile. It was a warm gesture, as he only smiled for her and the girl she had just left. "He must feel awkward without his veil," she thought. Well, this wasn't his party, after all. She waved back, which freed him to continue brooding.

She headed towards a large tree where a man in a bright but stately suit stood, talking happily with smaller figures as others flew about the surrounding trees. She felt very giddy as she approached, which everyone felt when they drew near to him. For her, though, there was much more.

"Hale, Lord Spring," she said with a curtsy and a grin.

The man under the tree looked up at her and his face glowed with joy. He grinned back at her and bowed. "And to you, Fair Lady," he replied, "My sister's celebrations are wonderful affairs, but the elegance and grace you bring make them gatherings of timeless value."

Still grinning, she walked closer. "Do you think you shall ever speak plainly to me?" she asked playfully.

"I speak true," he said defensively, "And even if you prefer simpler words, I still think you deserve grander speech."

"And what I would have," she said forcefully, the two of them still grinning, "is for you to tell me your mind without unnecessary thoughts between us."

After staring at each other for a few moments, the two of them began to laugh. "I think it would do me well to spend some time among humans as you do. Each time we meet, you seem a little changed by them," he managed to say at last.

"If you do, I have a house you can stay in," she said in a low voice.

The two now shared a forceful gaze. The other partygoers had left, leaving them alone under the tree. The man had opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the voice of the younger girl. She had gathered every attendee around her, and was signaling for silence.

"Friends, both essence and creature alike! Our celebration has been long and joyous, but now it is time for me to stand aside so that your new queen may once again take her duly appointed throne!" the girl announced.

With a nod and bow to the man beside her, the lady who had arrived walked up to the girl in the center of the throng. The girl took a fine, golden crown from her head. It began to shine in her hands as the lady lowered herself to one knee. The girl slowly placed the crown atop her head, and it returned to normal. A cool wind rushed over them as the lady stood, now the source of the ethereal light, to receive again her ancient and immortal title.

"The Crown of Autumn!" the girl cried. A pulse of power spread through the glade and the woods, leaving all silent and gaping in its wake.

Then, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but a gasp at the edge of the glade silenced them again. A child, eyes wide in wonder and shock, was hiding behind a tree. The lady, now crowned, knew the child from the village. He had always wanted to follow her wherever she went, always talking about how kind and beautiful she was. Now, though, he seemed terrified.

She motioned for everyone to back away from the child so that she was standing directly in front of him. She began to approach him. She paused after each step, but he didn't run. Soon, she stood mere feet from him, and kneeled.

"Hello," she said simply.

"L-Lady?" the child asked, sounding afraid and confused.

"Yes, it is me. You are the first to see me as I really am," she said gently. "But I'm the same person you know from your village. You have nothing to fear."

The child nodded nervously and stepped from behind the tree.

"You followed me?" she asked.

He nodded again.

She smiled down at him. She was very fond of the child, but she couldn't let him remember what he had seen. There was no rule about humans seeing this ceremony, since none ever had, but this would weigh on his soul. Even if he forgot the particulars, he would be haunted for the rest of his life by something he could not name. If he couldn't forget, though, maybe she could leave him something good.

"Listen to me," she began gently, "I am going to put you to sleep so that you don't remember what you saw, all right? No, you didn't do anything wrong. But this isn't something you should have seen. When you wake up, you'll be in your bed and everything will be normal. And don't worry, you'll see me again."

She patted his head affectionately and the world faded away. The next thing he knew, he was in his bed. He thought he had had a strange dream, but he couldn't remember anything about it. He put his concerns out of his mind as he rose to do his chores.

Autumn came that year, and winter. Everything moved on as it always did, but something about him had changed. He had a new fascination with sunsets, and often went wandering through the woods in the evening. Whenever adults asked him about it, he said he felt like was dreaming, but awake at the same time. Childhood nonsense most said, and went on their way.

Then, on the first day of Spring, the Lady returned, riding bareback into the village as she always did. And, as always, he was among the first to greet her. She received the usual compliments from the adults and comments about how she never aged, but the boy thought, somehow, that she looked taller and more beautiful.

When the first day of Summer came, the Lady came back arm-in-arm with a new visitor, a tall, handsome man. She said he was her husband, but the boy thought there was more to it. When the two of them were walking through a field one evening, he asked the Lady about it. She smiled at him in a strange but familiar way, then leaned down to whisper in his ear, "People can be like sunsets; sometimes they're simple, and sometimes they're more than you could ever put into words."

Meh.

Twilight out.

The Pirate in us all

2005-09-20T00:48:00.000-04:00

Today I went to a landfill. I had trash to dump, of course, but that was only half of my goal. After doing my disposal duty, I drove on over to where they piled up the heavy stuff, because I had a mission. Scavaging.

The idea of roaming around in a junkyard or a landfill and taking workable pieces from otherwise trashed objects has a certain appeal to me. I'm attracted to the idea of refurbishing, though I've little actual experience with it. I felt the particular urge to rummage through cars and appliances while in Senegal, when I was looking for parts to enact the grand ideas I had for renovating my hut. To my credit, the windmill design was taking shape, although I didn't get far enough to work in the alternator.

So today I found myself walking among discarded refrigerators and broken washing machines across a ground littered with strips of metal and plastic. Some see a wasteland of modern scrap, I see possibilities. Possibilities admittedly hampered by my limited understanding of electronics and contruction techniques, so I wouldn't feel safe with a high voltage power supply even if I found one.

I used to have a habit as a kid. Whenever I was in my grandmother's house, I loved to rifle through her kitchen drawers because she kept so much stuff in them. My mother often told me to stop plundering, as she called it. I guess I never learned. Really, though, can anyone keep a young boy from looking for buried treasure?

So what does that make me now? A thrifty dreamer? A modest pirate? A man who just likes to find potential in things? Whatever. I am who I am, and if my hands get dirty from a little digging, then that just makes the treasure shine brighter when I find it.

Yarr, matey. Yarr.

Twilight out.

Finally

2005-08-24T14:46:00.000-04:00

Phew. More than a month between posts (don't let the date fool you. I started on Aug. 24, but posted this on Sept. 9). This thing really is becoming like a journal to me. Sorry to those who waited for so long. I hope I haven't lost anyone. Anyway, I like this installment. It introduces someone I've been wanting to introduce and explains some things, too!

Oh, in other news, I interviewed with Auto-Owners Insurance recently. I think it was a good interview, but they told me to wait to hear something. D'oh. Of course, they also asked if I was willing to relocate. So, here I come... anywhere! My dad tried to check with them for me today to see what the status was. I know, "Awww." Fingers crossed!

And story ho!
(I haven't proofread; be gentle)
_____________________________________________

After coming to terms with the Sorceress, the Princess changed her routine. She now traveled very discretely outside of the tower, often with a cloak and never on the back of her new equine friend. The stallion, so fond of racing across the land with the Princess, took to the change well. Whenever she went walking about, he would trot calmly beside her. Occasional glimpses from atop the tower of a shining white horse charging across field and meadow, however, told the Princess that he had not given up his wild gallops completely. The most surprising change in the daily life of the tower, though, was the Princess' new fascination with the magical study and its treasury of books.

The Princess had been considering a trip to the study since the day she arrived in the tower. The magic traps and the curiosities of the tower would not leave her mind, and she pondered over them much during her first few weeks. She had assumed, however, that the Sorceress would come back one day with answers to the riddles that haunted them both. Each time that the Princess would ask about it, the Sorceress would smile and say that she was still looking into it. The Princess had grown more impatient every time she asked, and soon found the study entering her thoughts as often as the riddles themselves. After the incident with the horse and the discovery of her father's decree, her longing for answers burned and her resolution to find them hardened.

The Princess had been spending most of her days in the study, only taking the occasional break whenever she needed to eat or when the stallion who visited her - whom she had named Lysander- started neighing loudly for her to come out and see him. The rest of her time was spent going through book after book. She started out with the most introductory book on magic she could find, since she knew nothing other than what she saw the Sorceress do. She had expected to understand maybe half of the book, and that was if she read it paced and slow. What she found was surprisingly simple explanations of how to begin using magic. She wondered if this was a sort of first textbook for those born into magical families. She was so fascinated by her new studies that her pride was unfazed by her interest in what was a possible children's book.

The Princess had amassed a rather untidy pile of books she had read. She had also begun to understand how the Sorceress did the things she did. With a vicious grin, she circled spells in the book she was now reading that had been used in the trap on the tower's door. It was this, more than anything, that made her feel as she did back in castle before her escapade began. She felt a sense of direction. She had only scratched the resources of the study, but she felt like she was finally starting to get a grasp on things. Closing the book of curses with a vindictive slam, she opened up a catalog of wildlife: Creatures - Magical and Otherwise.

The Princess was amazed at the number and variety of creatures she had never heard of, but she was looking for information one beast in particular: the horse. Unlike most of the entries she had looked at so far, the one for horses was divided into normal characteristics and magical properties. With a pounding heart, she started to read the section on magical properties.

"Next to the cat, the horse travels between the realms of magic and nature more than any other creature. Compared to the cat, whose frequent transitions can be impossible to keep track of, the horse has been well observed and documented in its sojourns. As opposed to the cat, however, the horse carries much more of the essence of each world between the veil. Untamed horses are the greatest carriers, even to the extent of exibiting magical abilities of their own in the natural realm and resistance to mystic forces in the magical. Horses used for work or those otherwise denied of their nature show the least magical sensitivity. Between these extremes lie most horses used as mounts and even some warhorses. It is the horse's natural affinity for magic combined with its use as transportation that make it such an important asset for people from both realms. Horses have time and again proven themselves the most effective method for persons traveling between natural and magical towns.

Closely related to the normal family of horses are the unicorns. Some believe they are descended from wild horses that chose to stay in areas inundated with natural magic energies, while others believe that regular horses are unicorns who preferred wide, magicless pastures. Their entire body flows with magic, but their horns are believed to have grown as the foci of their latent powers. Whatever the case may be, there have been sightings of what seem to be half-breeds: unicorns without horns, or perhaps horses with magical blood in their veins. It is an little-understood and rare phenomenon-"

The Princess closed the book, though she made sure to place a bookmark for a later read. Her head was swimming. Could this be why her father banned the riding of horses? Was he afraid of people traveling to the abodes of sorcerers and witches? But the castle was filled with magic users! And the Sorceress! She seemed to know all about it, yet she had shown no regret over the restriction when she told the Princess. No, something more was going on, and the Princess vowed she was going to find out.

Since her head was still spinning with thoughts, she decided it was time for a break. She climbed the stairs to the top floor and walked to the wall. It was already evening. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her mind as the breeze played with her hair. Upon hearing a neigh, she looked down to see Lysander staring up at her, tossing his head wildly and rearing up on his hind legs. "He must be so excited to see me," the Princess thought fondly. She was about to head down to see him when she noticed a small light coming out of the forest.

The light, a single floating orb, was shining directly in front of a young girl wearing what seemed to be a hoodless cloak. She was walking straight towards the tower, glancing around occasionally. Her dress- was it a dress?- was mainly black, with cuts of purple and blue along the arms and across the chest. Despite a high collar, there was a portion cut out below the neck to reveal some cleavage. As the girl drew closer, the Princess saw that she wasn't wearing a cloak at all, but that the bottom part of her sleeves draped down to her ankles. She could also finally see the girl's long hair, but it was a rainbow of shimmering colors, almost translucent. The girl stopped at the base of tower, still looking around. Then, she caught sight of the Princess staring at her, and frowned.

"Uh... Hello!" the Princess called down, trying to start a dialogue.

The girl continued to stare at the Princess. Then, she lowered her head and closed her eyes. The Princess couldn't tell what she was doing, but soon a glowing mist started to radiate from the girl. Then, the form of a person began to rise from the girl's head. It was a duplicate of the girl herself, except that it was floating up towards the Princess. It reached eye level with the Princess herself and folded its arms, still frowning. Its hair was no longer a translucent, but a dark, shimmering blue. It looked the Princess up and down, eyeing her critically.

"How did you...?" the Princess started, impressed by the spell.

The illusion held up its hand. "I'd rather not answer questions that might damage your little mind, Princess, since there are answers I want from you, first," it said with indifference.

The Princess found herself speechless. Not only was this her first true insult, it was completely unprovoked. Who was this girl? More importantly, who did she think she was?! "How... how did you know I was a Princess?" was all she managed to say.

"This," the girl said, pointing to the blue hair still waving in the breeze.

"What?!" the Princess cried, forgetting the girl's rudeness, "You know something about this? Tell me, please!"

"You don't even know what it means?!" the girl spat, her eyes burning now. Her hair was also a bright red, and flickering about her head like fire. The Princess backed away, afraid of some violence, but none came. The girl continued looking at her with those burning eyes. The Princess thought she could see, behind the anger and contempt, a little sadness, so she tried her luck again.

"Please. I did not know what this tower was when I came here. I still don't, but I'm trying to find out. This place is important, somehow, so maybe I can help you," the Princess said.

"Hmph. I doubt some silly royal girl could help me with more than being mild amusement," the girl replied angrily. Her eyes had lost their violence, though, and her hair calmed down, changing from bright red to violet.

"Will you tell me?" the Princess pressed.

"Fine," the girl sighed, "but only enough to shut you up. That dye responds to magic. It won't fasten itself to anyone without some exposure to magic. Since you're obviously no sorceress yourself, you must know one. And the only people out here they have regular contact with are the kings and queens who like having them around."

The girl's illusion floated in closer and sat on the wall, facing inward, "And unless this whole boring world is doing worse than I thought, you're no queen."

"No," the Princess answered.

"But you would need the help of someone who knew magic -and well- in order to get past the traps my uncle set," the girl concluded.

"Your uncle? The warlock was your uncle?" the Princess asked.

"Is. He's doing fine, thanks for asking. And yes, he was here not long ago. Now, if your pretty little curiosity is satisfied, I'd like to ask about important things," the girl said cooly.

The Princess scowled at the girl's continued rudeness, but waited for her first question. "First of all," the girl began, "tell me why you came here."

"That... is my business," the Princess said defiantly, not wanting to share her embarassing story with some rude stranger.

"That's very cute, Princess, but either you tell me, or I take it from your mind," the girl said flatly.

The Princess did not like this girl. She told the story of the Princes, the whole time afraid that her face would catch fire.

"You poor thing," the girl said with a sarcastic smile after the tale, "It must have been so hard to be the object of so much affection." Her hair almost seemed to bounce, going from purple to bright green for a few moments, then back again.

"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" the Princess thought angrily.

"Well, that explains a lot," the girl said thoughtfully, "I only have one question left for you, then: when do you leave?"

"Leave? I plan to do no such thing!" the Princess said. She was not very surprised that the girl would ask this. From the moment she had arrived, the Princess thought that she was little more than an inconvenience to her. This was a battle of wills, and the Princess did not like losing. Besides, the problem with the Princes was no longer the Princess's main concern. There were things she needed to know, and the tower might be the only way she could find answers.

The girl tossed the long, trailing edges of her sleeves behind her head, where they slowly arched together and stopped in mid-air. The girl then leaned her head back against them and closed her eyes. When she spoke, she sounded bored, "Well, the way I see it, you can either leave yourself, or I can go tell your father that you're doing just fine out here with no evil witch in sight."

"What? That's just... childish!" the Princess cried. Then something occured to her. It was childish. Why would a girl with such obvious magical skill resort to telling on her? Why not just force her out? Could it be that she couldn't? Sky-blue strands brushed by her face as the Princess decided a second time that night to take a chance.

"I can handle my father," the Princess said, squaring her shoulders and clenching her fists, "So why don't you make me leave?"

The girl opened her eyes. Her hair briefly flickered red and curled around her arms before it settled back into a straight purple. She stared at the Princess, whose whole form was rigid with determination and anxiety. "Maybe you're not as dumb as you look," the girl said, studying the Princess a second time. "Though that's still not saying much," she finished with a smirk.

The Princess was now rigid with renewed anger. She opened her mouth to say a few unkind words of her own, but the girl lept down onto the floor from her reclined position in mid-air and continued on. "Very well, Your Highness," she said with a mocking bow, "I will tell you about this tower you seem so fond of. Then maybe you'll understand why it's important that you take your rather enviable problem elsewhere."

"You see, Princess, this tower is rather special. It's old, for one thing. It was first built as a kind of watchpost for the border between the two realms. You see, this spot is very special. There are... flows of power both magical and natural that intersect here," the girl explained.

"Like leylines?" the Princess asked, remembering what she had read.

"Yes... leylines. Seems you have had some education in the magics. Good. Then this will go faster," the girl said, and continued on, "Finding intersecting leylines from both realms was like finding a diamond in a peat bog. A Dream Temple like no other was going to be built here, but considering the proximity to your kingdoms, it was decided that a tower would be better."

The Princess wanted to ask what a Dream Temple was, but after impressing the girl, she didn't want to ruin her image.

"That was in the old days. For some time, this tower has been abandoned. I don't know why, and neither did my uncle," the girl paused, weighing her words, "There are things we wanted to know, so my uncle came here and started to replace the weakened enchantments here. I came to straighten things up and make it liveable."

"That explains the kitchen, at least," thought the Princess.

"After about a year, my uncle needed a more secluded spot for... certain studies, so he went to a dragon friend of his. Which brings us to the present," the girl finished. She was now looking expectantly -and impatiently- at the Princess.

"That's it?" the Princess asked in amazement, "That doesn't answer anything! You can't expect me to leave after just that? If this place is so important, how did the Sorceress find it in a classified? Why did you just leave it? What's all that hair for? And why is my hair blue?!"

The girl's hair turned a dark orange and began to twist in and out around itself. "You should be thankful for that hair, girl. It means more than you know," the girl said in a low voice.

"Thankful?! I lost my beautiful gold to this Forever Dye! And if it means more than I know, why don't you tell me everything, girl?" the Princess snapped back.

The girl's hair lit up immediately into a shining bright orange. Her face was livid, and her voice grew with each word she spoke. "I have no intention of wasting anymore of my time prattling on just to please the spoiled fancies of a displaced royal tart! I don't care how, but one way or another you're going to leave this tower!" she shouted.

"Or what?" the Princess said with a smirk, finally unable to keep her anger in check, "You'll blind me with your uncontrolled hair?"

Almost as if in response to the Princess's suggestion, the girl's hair shined brighter, lighting up the top floor of the tower. It flailed madly around her head. The Princess covered her face with her arms, expecting some horrible magic. What she saw, silhouetted against the brilliant hair, was the girl's face, contorted in rage and... something else. Bitterness?

"CURSE YOU!" the girl cried, and the Princess fell as if struck.

As soon as she uttered the words, the girl's hair fell and returned to a dark purple. She looked around in confusion. "What? No, that couldn't be it...," she began to say to herself in a worried voice.

The Princess stood up and checked herself over. Whatever happened, it hadn't done anything to her. Well, nothing obvious. "What just happened?" she asked the girl.

"I... I think I just trapped you here, Princess," the girl answered, still in shock.

"Huh? But I thought you wanted me gone?" the Princess asked.

"I did! But then I lost my temper, and I cursed you, and... apparently that was the trigger," the girl said angrily.

"Trigger? For what?" the Princess asked.

The girl sighed, "There is ancient magic in this tower, as my uncle and I discovered. As you may or may not know, magic is born, ultimately, from the soul. The longer it remains somewhere, the stronger and more complicated it gets, until it finally comes alive."

"A-Alive?"

"Yes, alive. What is born from shall be born into. We knew that there was a powerful awareness in this tower, but we couldn't reach it. We knew nothing about it. Now, I seem to have caught its attention with my outburst, and what it wants is for you to stay right where you are."

"No, that can't be...," the Princess said. It was only a tale to get her away from the castle! It couldn't have just become real!

"Look at your hand mirror, then, if you don't believe me. I can tell it has a magical connection to another mirror. I you were just sealed here, then the shock would have broken it," the girl said.

The Princess slowly walked over to the table where she kept the mirror the Sorceress had given her. It was faced down. She slowly reached out and grabbed the handle. She held it up to her face, and with a deep breath, turned it around. Right across the middle of the mirror was a single, thick crack.

The Princess dropped the mirror in devastation, ignoring the sounds of it shattering on the stone floor. It was true. Before it was a lie, but now it was true. And it was all because of that infuriating witch!

"You!" the Princess yelled, spinning on her heel to face the girl, "This is all your fault!"

To the Princess's surprise, the girl's hair remained a calm, dark purple, "I think we're both to blame here. Me, for losing my temper, and you, for not knowing what you were getting into." She sighed, "But, as I am partly responsible, I won't leave you alone in this."

The girl closed her eyes. After a few moments, the girl herself, who had been on the ground the whole time, flew up to the top floor and stepped into her illusion. It vanished into her as she walked up.

"My name is Melina," the girl said, holding out a hand to the Princess.

The Princess looked from the hand to the girl, then slowly reached out to take it, "My name is-"

"Don't tell me," Melina interrupted, "Now that you're wrapped up in the magics of this tower, your true name has power, even over you. Guard it, and only give it to those whom you truly know and trust. In the meantime, you'll need another name to go by."

The Princess thought. She was continually being caught up in things she didn't understand and left to fend for herself. She was scared and uncertain, but also a little excited and very curious. Most of all, though, she wanted company...

The Princess tightened her grip on Melina's hand, and said, "Then call me Lenoa."

"Excellent, Lenoa," Melina said, with the first smile that the Princess- that Lenoa- had seen, "I don't expect that we'll become the best of friends, but I think we can tolerate one another."

"Agreed," Lenoa said, releasing Melina's hand. Her smile had seemed forced in Lenoa's view. Lenoa could see guilt still lingering in Melina's eyes over what had just happened. Maybe she wasn't such a bad person after all. Well, not quite as bad.

Melina walked to the edge of the tower, then turned to Lenoa, "I'll come by every now and then to check on you. There's still much for us to discuss, and even more to find out."

With that, she jumped off the edge and floated to the ground, where Lysander was standing, watching as she came down. They stared at each other, until Melina held out her hand. Lysander looked at it, then lowered his head to allow Melina to stroke it.

"I'll keep an eye on Lysander here," Melina called back to Lenoa.

"Are you sure? He seems to like it here, and I... like having him here, too," Lenoa called back.

"Don't worry so much. You may be trapped, but there are few better places I can think of to be stuck in," Melina said. She began to walk towards the forest with Lysander at her side. "And if you get too bored, just brush your hair some more," she said, and Lenoa could barely make out dancing green hair before they entered the woods.

The Princess stared out into nothing while the stars whirled overhead. The night creatures chirped and howled, and all the world was still about her. "I am Lenoa," she said softly to herself. The words broke her silence, and coursed like hot water through her soul. She sank to her knees and began to cry, unaware that for the first time, the wind had completely died.

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Weeell, how was that? Long, I know. I'm wondering if maybe shorter installments might help me with more regular updates. Now is an interesting part, though, since that's all I had written in my head. Now we're in new territory that I have to map out. So, maybe some normal posts while I work it out. Maybe some other stories. Who knows? Let me know what you think, and if you like it!

Twilight out.

Choices

2005-08-04T22:15:00.000-04:00

Hey, there, folks. Been a while, I know. It takes an effort of will for me to keep this place updated. You guys haven't been demanding, but I think I can understand how some successful authors might feel that their story becomes the people's story. It's then that installments become the 'duty of the storyteller'.

As for myself, I'm still jobless and still trying to figure things out. After a good but intense talk with Becky, she helped me realize that what I do and who I am is my choice. I can wallow or I can move on, it's up to me. Was it the Iron Giant that had the line, "You are who you choose to be"? Such a good movie...

On with the tale.

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Although she lacked a castle, the Princess was still the child of a royal upbringing. So, even as she had braced herself for the worst, the luxuries of the tower made the Highness inside her purr with delight. She had also been taught the reponsibilities of rulers, and so took it upon herself to become acquainted with her new "kingdom." During the initial few weeks of settling into the tower, she made frequent journeys into the surrounding lands. She learned the paths of the forest, held conversation with the babbling brooks, joined in choirs of songbirds, and danced with the wind across the rolling plains that stretched towards the horizon. The same horizon that she gazed at each morning and each night, enthralled by the small silhouette of her old castle and home.

As the days wore on and the thrill of her new home began to fade, the Princess found herself torn. She missed her parents and friends in the castle terribly, almost coming to tears when she thought too long upon them. A quick recollection of the scores of Princes with ravenous eyes put such nostalgia to rest, but it left her feeling listless. After helping her settle in, the Sorceress made fewer visits. She still had duties at the castle (which also included listening for talk about the Princess), so the Princess found herself with more time than she knew what to do with. She tried to bury herself in the books held in the tower's collection (which was quite impressive), but she still missed her favorite past time: riding.

Fortune smiled on her, though. During her first few days, the Princess had been wandering in the woods when she had found a wild stallion. When she saw it, she was frightened, as it looked stronger and fiercer than any horse she had seen. It was almost mother-of-pearl, and its mane looked like actual threads of silver. To her surprise, the horse approached her and bowed its head for her to stroke its neck. In a moment of boldness, she tried to climb its side and found it nudging her up with its nose. For a time, her spirits were lifted and a strange joy stole upon her heart. The Sorceress, however, had not approved.

The Princess had been trotting back to the tower at the end of a ride and had seen the Sorceress waiting for her. Her arms were crossed and she did not have her usual air of amusement with the world. The Princess knew that this did not bode well.

"Ah, good evening, friend Sorceress. If I may ask, does something-"

"Trouble me?" the Sorceress cut in, "Yes, there is something troubling me, and it is that beast you are sitting upon."

The Princess nervously patted the stallion's neck. "But why? What is so wrong about a simple ride through the country? I never imagined a horse with no master would let me ride it, but this one seems to enjoy carrying me as much as I enjoy being born upon him."

The Soceress stared at the horse with an expression the Princess could not read. She then turned a stern gaze upon the Princess. "I'm sorry, Princess, but riding through open fields on horseback does little to help the belief that you are imprisoned, does it?"

"Oh, I suppose not," the Princess said, taken aback. She had been reveling so much in her rides that she had forgotten why she had come out to the tower in the first place. "But what's one person on horseback? Especially with this blue hair, no one would suspect it was me," the Princess contended.

"The color of your hair is of little consequence, Princess," the Sorceress said, "You fail to realize just how uncommon a sight you are on that beast's back." The Sorceress hesitated. For a moment, it seemd to the Princess that she wasn't sure if she should go on. At length, she spoke again, "You see, Princess, no one in this land save the Knights are allowed to ride horses. Your father ordered it long ago. He made an exception for you after seeing your love of the animals, but that is even more reason to stay from riding! You have ever been the only maiden to ride in this kingdom, and anyone who saw a lone girl riding would immediately think of you. Considering our story, they might guess that you had escaped your 'capture'."

The Princess's hand froze in mid-stroke upon the neck of the horse. "I have never heard of this. I admit that I never paid much mind to it, but I find it hard to believe that my father would outlaw horse riding," the Princess said, almost breathlessly. She had never known her father to outlaw anything that was not also a crime. And riding a horse? How could her father deny their people of something so wonderful?

"I am afraid it is so, Princess. I regret that I cannot tell you why, as I can tell you wish to ask," the Sorceress said, her voice softer but her countenance still stern.

"You cannot? You mean to say that my father has not only issued this ridiculous decree, but he has also forbidden that his own daughter should not know its reasons?" the Princess said, stabbing the air with each word.

The Sorceress's suddenly became distant, as if she had just remembered something old and unwelcome, "Princess, you mustn't think too much on this. A king always has his reasons... even if they are not his own. At any rate," she said, regaining her composure, "This riding must end."

The Princess looked away in thought. This wasn't fair! She had just found this wonderful steed, and now she had to give him up? In the back of her mind, she knew the Sorceress was right, but something was pushing her, telling her not to give in. The stallion stomped it's foot beneath her.

"Well," the Princess began, her voice haughty and her chin stuck out like an ocean cliff, "if I can get no good reason not to ride this horse, I don't see why I shouldn't."

The Sorceress frowned. She knew when the Princess was planning to be stubborn all too well, although she had not expected it of her in this case. Talking would not help her much now. The Princess could show an alarming disregard for what others thought when she had settled on a course. Just then, the Sorceress had an idea.

The Sorceress swept her arm out and stretched her fingers downward, so that she could see the Princess beneath her palm. "If you are so determined to be a spectacle, Princess, then let me help you," she said with a devilish grin. She narrowed her eyes and thoughts, then jerked her hand up. The Princess followed, flying up into the air like a living marionette.

"Ah!" the Princess exclaimed.

The Sorceress lifted her several feet over the horse and with a flick caused her hair and dress to spread in all directions. The Princess, however, simply folded her arms and frowned at the Sorceress. The Sorceress had expected as much. She twirled her wrist around, and the Princess now found herself upside down and holding up her dress for dear life. The Princess still held her composure, although her face was a beautiful red now. The Sorceress raised her other hand to add the final touch. The Princess's eyes widened, not sure what the Sorceress would dare do next. With a broad smile and a little concern that she might be enjoying herself a bit too much, the Sorceress extended magical tendrils from her fingertips and began to tickle the helpless Princess.

The Princess burst into laughter, twisting and writhing while trying to keep her dress at her knees. The Sorceress found herself trying every spot she could think of until, at last, the Princess's hands forgot their grip on the dress and it came falling down upon the Princess's face.

"AH! Hahaha... my dress! Haha.. and... HAHAHA!! My shift!" the Princess cried in between breathless laughs.

"Oh, what a lovely bush!" the Sorceress said, turning away to purposefully examine the circular hedge that surrounded the tower. It was high enough to hide the horse and Sorceress, but the Princess was just above its top. "I'd hate to think what someone might think if they saw you like this. Especially with a looking glass. But that's no concern of yours, right, Princess?"

The Sorceress relented her tickling and the Princess caught her breath. Then, a loud sigh came from behind the curtain of the dress, "All right, I admit to my folly, and... I'll stop riding," the Princess agreed. The Sorceress lowered her onto her feet and helped her straighten her hair and dress.

"It really is a shame, though. He's a magnificent horse," the Princess said, staring at the stallion, which looked back into her eyes.

"Well, it does seem to like you quite a bit. I don't see why you can't visit with him," the Sorceress said. She raised a warning finger, "Just so long as you do it discreetly."

The Princess laughed merrily, "Yeah, I understand. I think the two of us could manage some 'discreet' walks through the woods. Oh, don't worry about that." The Sorceress had been trying to put the shawl the Princess had been wearing back in place. The Princess took it and tied it absently around her waist and shook all the tangles in her hair free, pulling long strands with her hands.

The Sorceress looked at the Princess curiously, then turned to look at the horse, who met her gaze evenly. "I think you have a very special friend in this horse, Princess," she said thoughtfully. At the Princess's inquisitive look, the Sorceress smiled. She apologized for forcing the Princess into such an embarassing display, but the Princess laughed and patted her shoulder.

"I should be thanking you, Sorceress," the Princess said, "I don't know what came over me. I only wish I could have seen it. I'll bet I was a sight to see."

"Well...," the Sorceress began to say, and started to chant some magical words that echoed in a high, crystal ring as she said them. She then touched a finger to the Princess's forehead and the Princess saw in her mind's eye an image of herself hanging upside down, fallen dress and all. She chuckled.

That had been weeks ago, and the Princess laughed again at remembering it. She was leaning on the low stone wall at the top of tower, as she did every evening. She had recently discovered a number of dresses in the back of her wardrobe that were much less ornate -and much more comfortable- than the royal attire she usually wore. She was wearing one such dress now, and her hair poured freely down her back.

She still wondered over what the Sorceress had told her that day about her father's decree about riding horses. He had always answered any question she posed to him, even if it was hard to answer. "If only I had noticed," she thought, "I could have asked him about it before I came here." But would he have answered? She shuddered as the words continued to form in her mind. If nobody is to know why, then there must be something he's trying to hide. Even from me.

"But not the Sorceress," she said softly to herself. She looked down and saw her lovely stallion laying on the ground next to the tower. It lifted its head and met her eyes before tossing its mane and settling back to sleep. She looked towards the castle and thought of the last report the Sorceress had given her. After the initial shock and grief, her father had sent for the warlock who had owned the tower previously.

"Reclusive warlocks are hard to get a hold of, so don't worry about him," the Sorceress had told the Princess when she expressed her sympathy over causing the Warlock such trouble, "Besides, there's more to worry about with those Princes. Some have returned to their kingdoms, seeing more trouble than was worth their time, but most have set up camps and pledged their assistance to your father. I fear this endeavour has become bigger than we planned, Princess."

Everything had become bigger, it seemed. The idea that there were things in her kingdom that she didn't know about was unsettling. Neither had she forgotten the strange things about the tower she now lived in. She shook her hair out and pulled it forward to fall down her chest. She stroked it softly, almost like she had with the horse.

"You're part of all this, aren't you?" she asked to the sky blue strands, twirling them around her fingers. The sun had fallen behind the horizon, and night was now fast approaching. The magical lamps were starting to flicker on, making the tower an island of light removed from the brilliance of the castle. Looking again at the sleeping stallion beneath her, the Princess began to wonder if this was where she was meant to be.

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Yet again I write something other that what I had in mind. Parts of this story just seem to write itself. Let's see where this thing takes itself!

Twilight out.

Haitus

2005-07-18T23:48:00.000-04:00

Meh.

Stone Temple Pirates

2005-07-04T20:41:00.000-04:00

Thank you for your patience. Here it is, the latest update of my tale. It's been a long time coming due to 4th of July madness, working on an article idea, and general despondency. It feels longer than it should be. I think I have that Robert Jordanesque flaw to be longwinded. The good thing is, I can see how I can shorten things in the editing (which won't take place for some time. Everything here is first draft, minus a little proofreading). Oh, I was wondering. The Princess and the Sorceress both speak very formally right now (which will probably change in the future. heehee.), but what do you guys think about names? Should I give some to them and future characters?

Anyway, we finally get to see what the tower's like. Enjoy!

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Judging by the plainness she had seen on the outside, the Princess wasn't expecting much of the tower's interior. As she was soon to learn, however, her new home was full of surprises. Unsuspecting, the Princess and Sorceress entered.

The ground floor was a combination foyer/sitting room, with fine leather chairs and plush pillows of all sizes. The Princess immediately noticed, though, that portions of the wall were missing. To be more precise, at a certain height, the wall disappeared and she could see to the outside. It was a wonderful effect, with light spilling into the room from all directions. The Princess walked close enough to reach through the gap, but she gasped when her hand stopped where the normal wall would have been. It was like touching the most life-like picture anyone had ever painted.

The Sorceress walked up beside the Princess and touched the wall, as well. She closed her eyes and began to move her hand across the image. Whenever she did, the image shuddered. The Princess looked to her, awaiting an explanation.

"Now this is a pleasant enchantment," the Sorceress said with a smile, "The walls here have a spell on them that lets us see everything outside while offering nothing but a stone wall to anyone on the other side. It's a fairly common spell for places in the country like this where ground-floor windows are too large a risk with concern to robbers."

The Princess continued to stare at the enchanted wall while running her hands softly across it until the Sorceress put a hand on her shoulder. She led the Princess to the stairs against the wall and they climbed to the next floor.

From the increasingly nice smells, they both new what the next floor was. After all, what would a sitting room be without a kitchen nearby to fetch refreshments from? It was bright and clean, which surprised the Sorceress a bit. The Princess felt wind on her face and noticed that above the sink was the first actual window the tower possessed.

"I always assumed that these serious magical types didn't care much for tidiness or proper meals," she mused as she examined countertops and cupboards, "I've known my fair share who would be so engrossed in their spells or alchemy that they'd simply summon a quick bowl of noodles. I think I should have liked to meet this fellow."

After spending her fair share of time in the palace kitchen in the guise of a servant, the Princess had developed an appreciation for where food comes from. And she, too, was impressed. There were large racks of ingredients and spices with magic seals for freshness. She also noticed a shelf tucked behind the others that held all manner of curative potions and balms. She made a mental note of it.

"Excellent!" the Sorceress exclaimed on the other side of the kitchen.

"What is it?" the Princess asked.

"Oh... well, no offense to your Lady," the Sorceress said, nervously dropping to formalities, "but I was worried how you would manage on your own with no one to cook your meals for you. Fortunately, we needn't worry about that. Look."

The Sorceress indicated a fancy tray sitting alone on a table against the wall. It had runes all about it and no handles. The Princess, at a loss for its purpose and ignoring the Sorceress' insinuation about her lack of cooking talent, asked her what the cause for excitement was.

"This, Princess, is a Magic Chef," the Sorceress said, "It's connected to the Magic Food Network, and you can order anything you like from it. It will be a simple matter to arrange for the royal treasury to be billed for your meals."

"Then, why all the rest?" the Princess asked, "Why all the shelves and foods and spices when all you would need is that little tray?"

"Well, I'm sure he had his reasons. Perhaps he had peculiar tastes, and needed all of this on the side. Perhaps he only used the Chef when he was too busy to cook. Besides, it's a wise practice for any magic user to keep a healthy supply of edible ingredients for potions. Anyway, let's continue, shall we? This place is looking better by the floor!" the Sorceress said. It sounded like an amazing device, but the Princess still thought the Sorceress was a little too excited.

The two of them returned to the stairs and climbed to the next floor. The brightness of the day lit kitchen faded away to soft yellow light from glowing orbs encircling the room. All the Princess saw were crates and barrels.

"I think this must be his store room," the Princess said.

"I agree. Still, what would he leave behind? Oh, well. This is technically your tower now, so why don't we take a peek, eh?" the Sorceress suggested.

The Princess smiled, "I believe, dear friend, that you are truly enjoying this."

"Hm?" the Sorceress replied. She had walked over to a group of crates, unconsciously humming a happy tune, "Oh. Well, yes, I suppose. I usually spend all my time waiting on your parents or in my study. It's not often I get to see a place filled with magic like this. It's nostalgic."

"Mm-hmm," the Princess said with a smirk. She walked over to join the Sorceress by the crates. As soon as she was next to them, though, she felt something. She couldn't describe it, but before she realized it, her hands were opening one of the far lids.

"Princess?" the Sorceress asked, before her attention was stolen by the contents of the crate, "What in the world? This crate is filled with hair!"

Indeed, the crate was filled to the top with meters of beautiful, golden hair just like the Princess had before the incident with the Forever Dye. When the Sorceress opened the other crates, she found them full of hair of different colors and qualities.

"So many crates... But what did he use them for?" the Sorceress wondered, a finger resting on her cheek. With a shrug, she began closing them again. "Well, it's not important now, I suppose. At any rate, Princess, you were certainly lucky to find your own hair so quickly!"

"I... knew," the Princess replied softly, her face contorted in confusion.

"Knew? How?" asked the Sorceress.

"I... don't know," the Princess answered, looking helplessly to the Sorceress.

"Your knowledge is in the wrong place, it would seem," the Sorceress sighed, "Well I, for one, am ready to move on. Princess?"

"Yes, certainly..." she responded absently.

They returned to the stairs and climbed to the next floor. They were greeted again by magical lights lining the walls, but it was much brighter. There were several tables with lustrous metals worked into strange devices. Beside them were flasks of all types and ample sheets of parchment ready to be written on. The walls were lined with bookshelves full of cracked, magical tomes.

"I was expecting to find the laboratory at some point. It makes sense to have both the kitchen and lab next to the storeroom, actually," the Sorceress said. She walked slowly by the tables, examining the instruments as she passed. "This is good equipment. Fine equipment, actually. Not the kind you'd leave behind. I'm starting to wonder if he really did move as the brochure said. It seems more like he fled."

The two of them mounted the stairs once more (what was there to interest the Princess in a magical laboratory, after all?), and pressed on. The light from the orbs faded as they returned to daylight. Wide, tall windows were spaced evenly along the walls. It was becoming evening, and soft orange light filled the bedroom.

With a shout of glee, the Princess ran to the postered bed and flung herself down upon it. After her ordeal at the entrance to the tower, she had been waiting for this moment.

"Oh, it's wonderful! So soft! And look at all these pillows!" the Princess rejoiced, tossing the pillows into the air, "I even think the sheets are silk, just like the palace! You may be right about this warlock fleeing from here. Who could leave behind a bed like this?!"

"Indeed, this is nice. Everything here is unbelievably nice," the Sorceress mused aloud once again, "It's almost as if he was expecting someone of high station to live here..."

As the Princess was rolling on the bed, she noticed the tattered dress she was still wearing. Hopping off the bed, she strode towards the wardrobe, hoping to find something to change into. She didn't expect to find much beside a few discarded robes, but anything was better than what she was wearing. Behind the doors were racks stuffed full of dresses.

"Well, I knew these magic fellows could be odd, but I never imagined...," the Princess began to say, but stopped when she saw the Sorceress beside her. Her face was confused and alarmed. It was not a countenance she wore often, but this tower had seemed particularly able to bring it out of her. The Princess found it not a little unsettling.

"This isn't right," the Sorceress said in a heated voice, "Nothing here is right! I thought this place would be empty except for bare furnishings, but instead we find a home tailor-made for you. And before you ask, these dresses aren't the Warlock's. He cleaned his magical presence from this tower, but his clothes would have kept some of it no matter what he did. These dresses haven't been worn by anyone, Princess."

"Well, that was nice of him," the Princess said, forcing some cheer into her voice.

"Mmm," responded the Sorceress, still thinking, "But there was no way for him to know that you would be the one to stay here. I would have sensed any divination. I just don't understand this." After some moments, the Sorceress looked from the dresses to the Princess, "Well? Are you going to put it on?"

The Princess looked back to the wardrobe and noticed that her hand was already on a dress. "When did I...?" she breathed, and pulled out the dress. It was a simple white gown that looked very comfortable. The bodice and skirt were striped with a dark blue, the color of a night sky still clinging to the sun's glow.

"Oh, wonderful choice, Princess. That will go well with your new hair," the Sorceress admired, helping the Princess out of her ruined garments.

"Yes...," the Princess replied quietly. The dress was so comfortable that she forgot her previous concerns. Looking around the bedroom, she admitted to herself that she might enjoy living here.

Now there was only one floor left. The Princess led the way on the last flight of stairs leading to the top of the tower. It was similar to the first floor in that you could see the country below all around. The difference was that it was no illusion. Carefully worked columns of stone were spaced at intervals to hold up the conical roof while leaving plenty of open space. There was a reading chair with a magical light, a couch for reclining, a strange-looking telescope with a stool, and a table with a tray that looked like a small Magic Chef. She thought it must be for calling up food from the kitchen.

The Princess walked closer to the couch and noticed something shiny underneath one of its pillows. Moving it aside, she was delighted to find an ornate flute. "Marvelous! I can keep practicing on this!" the Princess said, fondly remembering her musical lessons back in the palace.

"And that enormous bookshelf in the bedroom will keep you entertained for some time, as well," the Sorceress said with a smile. The Princess, looking at her, thought it seemed forced and tired.

"Are you all right, friend?" the Princess asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. This place just... troubles me. All these mysteries confound me. I've also been keeping up an aura of observation to make sure I didn't miss anything. It becomes taxing, especially with my thoughts turned on these other things," the Sorceress replied. She closed her eyes and muttered a spell. When she looked back up, she didn't seem quite as tired. "There, I don't think I need the aura anymore, although I do want to get back and research this place a bit more. I have a feeling there's something here we're missing, something behind all of this."

"Something behind it all?" the Princess asked in worry.

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry, Princess," the Sorceress said with a laugh, waving her hands dismissively, "I didn't mean to frighten you. It's nothing sinister, I assure you. No, I would have felt that from the moment we stepped inside. This place is fine for your little disappearance. It could be nothing, in the end, that troubles me. But if it is something, it's nothing that would concern you. Just mystical odds and ends."

"All right, if you say so," the Princess said.

"Well, I should be off. I doubt we'll find a better place, and I need to spread our story before other rumors begin popping up. I'll send your things soon, and then I'll come back to check on you," the Sorceress said.

"Thank you again for all of this. You are a friend without equal," the Princess said.

"Think nothing of it, dear. Well, then," the Sorceress said with a smile and a blush. With some graceful gestures and long words, she surrounded herself in the same magical glow that had brought the two of them to the tower. "Here, if you need anything," she said, taking a small hand mirror from her pouch and tossing it to the Princess, "then just speak into the mirror. I'll hear."

The Princess nodded, and weaving the final spells, the Sorceress disappeared in a flash of light. The Princess placed the mirror carefully on the table next to the Magic Chef Petite and walked to the edge. In the distance, she could just make out the royal palace catching the last rays of sunlight before they fled into the night. She sighed and turned back to face the tower.

"I hope I know what I'm doing," she said, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. The breeze was warm, but for some reason, she suddenly felt cold.

___________________________________________________________

...Prologue complete.
...
...Disengaging story boundaries.
...Activating chapter.1.tale.
...
...
...Restarting Brainstorm.ideas and Consistency.story.
...Editing functions still suspended.
...
...Recording from input2{review} and input3{criticism}.

(So I like the recent Applegeeks. :P )

Twilight out, baby.

Learning curve

2005-06-21T02:05:00.000-04:00

This isn't where I had originally planned to end this "chapter," either. After reading it, though, I like this. It works. Oh, and I know you guys are busy and probably don't like commenting, so should I stop asking for commentaries like I did last time? I'm thinkin' yeah, but I like feedback. I'm a comment whore, I admit it.

Now, let's see if our Princess is doomed (yeah, right)....
____________________________________________________________

The Princess felt something touch her feet and looked down to see shimmering tendrils of light growing up from the ground beneath her and wrapping themselves around her legs. She tried to escape, but was not permitted the slightest movement by the magical web. The sounds of bells and fire and wind could be heard and were steadily growing louder. The Princess closed her eyes, not wanting to watch the beautiful dance of curses as it now swallowed her waist.

The Sorceress rushed to the aid of the Princess. Her years of training and royal service had taught her how to keep a cool head at all times, but she was inwardly very grateful that the Princess was not screaming once more. She examined the mystic filaments closely with her arts, but every time she caught the pattern of one hex or curse, another twisted around it and broke her concentration. It was a tangled torrent of foul magic that she knew she couldn’t stop in time. The noises were still getting louder. Fighting back a growing sense of panic, the Sorceress searched frantically through her knowledge for some way out.

“The Forever Dye!” the Sorceress exclaimed, with hope growing in heart as she reasoned aloud, “I might not be able to stop the trap, but perhaps I could fool it! If I take some of the Princess’ hair in my hand, I could channel the magic through my body and trick it into releasing itself somewhere else!”

The Princess was breathing quickly and sweating hard and the magic wrapped around her chest and approached her neck. The Sorceress grabbed a handful of blue hair with a confident grip. The sounds of bells clanged in challenge.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I have an idea. Just wait for a few more moments,” the Sorceress said. The Princess didn’t respond as the enchanted mist began to creep up her neck. The invisible fire roared with hunger.

“Just a little bit more. It has to touch my hand around the hair,” the Sorceress thought to herself. Her body was encased in an army of wards and spells. The bodiless wind howled in anger.

The magic trap stretched past the neck of the Princess and touched her cheek, which finally made the Princess cry out. It reached out towards her hair. The noises were deafening. The Sorceress tightened her grip. Then, it touched the cyan locks. And disappeared.

The Sorceress blinked in surprise. The web of pulsing enchantments fell from around the Princess and vanished. The two of them stood silent for a few bewildered moments, until the Princess broke out into joyous laughter and grabbed the Sorceress while she danced in a circle. The Sorceress found it hard not to join in, but when the relief had faded, she was still left curious.

“It didn’t touch me at all, yet it vanished. What is happening here?” she wondered, with her chin in her hand.

“Oh, who knows and who cares? I’m safe!” the Princess retorted. Her face became more serious, “This time, though, we are going to make sure everything is safe before I touch another… well… anything!”

“Yes. Right. Give me a moment,” the Sorceress agreed, tucking the mystery into the back of her mind for the moment. She closed her eyes and with a few gestures and a thought produced her own streams of light for probing the remaining magic waiting in the tower.

The Princess, still elated about her near-miss, had decided to flop on the grass in a manner very unlike a princess while she waited for the Sorceress to finish. She looked at the magic tendrils flowing from the Sorceress’ hands and turned away with a shudder. She was unconsciously busying herself with fixing her hair when the Sorceress released her glowing threads and turned to her.

“All of the protective spells are gone. Only serving and attending magic remains,” the Sorceress reported.

“Wonderful! Now we can finally get on with this inspection,” the Princess said as she rose and brushed herself off. She walked slowly towards the door and touched the handle cautiously before gritting her teeth and grabbing it for a third time.

“I hate magic,” she said as she finally opened the door.

The Sorceress smiled behind her, “It would seem the feeling is mutual.”

_______________________________________________________

^_^

Twilight out.

Princess, Interrupted

2005-06-15T01:50:00.000-04:00

I know you've all been dying for the next installment, and here it is! I've been waiting to hear from Becky before I began writing more. She is the one, after all, who prompted me to write this, so I wanted to know she was on board. Yes, yes, I forgot all about the little 'archive' thing on the right side of my blog, and how easy it is to keep up.

Now, when we left the Princess, she was hatching a plan for a much-needed break from courtship. Let's see what happens...

_______________________________________________

It didn't take long for the Princess and her magical cohort to finish their preparations. Whatever the Princess would need could be provided for her through the arts of the Sorceress. The only thing was to find the right tower in which to stage their drama. Fortunately, the Sorceress kept up with mystic real estate.

"Oh, yes, this will do nicely," the Sorceress said behind her brochure. She had brought the Princess out to see a nearby tower she had found atop a pleasant hill at the edge of a beautiful forest. "The previous owner, a warlock of some learning, was a solitary fellow and grew tired of being so accessible. I think he found a timeshare in a dragon's cave. Anyway, you should be happy. It seems this place is filled with enchantments. There are some basic warding spells and traps we'll have to take care of first, though. Fellow liked to seal his portals whenever he left, I'll give him that."

The Sorceress began walking around the tower, reading off each enchantment one at a time, "Let's see... disproportionment charm, discoloration and wart hexes, an elemental deterrant ward, an amphibicator (oh, I hate those), a rotundus curse... My, it just keeps going. He was quite protective of his home, wasn't he? Do be careful, now, Princess. I know how you love to poke around places and- Princess?"

The Sorceress stopped, noticing that she was walking around the tower alone. She began to backtrack around the tower, calling out for the Princess, when she heard a thunderous noise and an unmistakable shriek.

"Princess!" the Sorceress yelled as she raced to the main doorway, where she found what she assumed had only a few moments ago been the Princess. She was lying on the ground next to the great wooden door with smoke rising from a tattered dress that was parts burnt and soaked. Her hair, on the other hand, was standing straight out at every angle, sparking on all ends. Of course, wherever her dress wasn't burnt it had ripped, since she was now carrying several times more weight in unflattering curves. That said nothing of her limbs of mismatched length, her diseased skin, her many warts, or of her new tongue hanging several feet out of the lovely face of a frog. All in all, she was a miserable moaning sight, and an excellent testament to the warlock's security measures.

"Oh, you silly girl," the Sorceress said with a chuckle she tried but failed to suppress.

The Princess answered with an angry, "Riiibbit!"

"I speak Pond, you know, and I'll not have such language from a Lady such as yourself! Now let's get you sitting upright, and I'll fix all this straight away," the Sorceress replied, still wearing an unshakeable grin.

After a great deal of counter-spells had been cast, the Princess, human once again, sat on the ground examining her ruined dress while the Sorceress tried to tame her frazzled hair with a comb she had pulled out of mid-air. The Princess idly drew a strand of hair in front of her face and noticed something very peculiar: it was blue.

"My friend, you haven't finished yet!" she exclaimed as she turned to face the Sorceress, "Look at my hair! It's blue, as if it were dipped in the sky itself!"

"Oh, yes... that," the Sorceress said, looking down, "I'm afraid I can't do anything for that. You see, that's Forever Dye. It's usually only used in painting magical murals or printing books of spells. It doesn't fade and is nigh impossible to remove."

"You can't do anything? My lovely golden hair is gone in favor of this unnatural hue?" the dejected Princess asked.

"I'm afraid so, Princess. It seems the warlock charmed the paint so it has only settled in your hair, though. It could be worse. Besides, the color is lovely. I think it suits you very well," the Sorceress said, smiling reassuredly. "It is strange, though," she continued, furrowing her brow in thought, "This was nowhere to be found in his list of enchantments. I suppose he could have forgotten about it, but Forever Dye is hardly something you overlook."

The Princess continued to examine her new hair while the Sorceress worked on smoothing it out. Had anyone chanced by the pair without knowing what had transpired, they would have thought it was a simple day in the country for two lovely ladies(although the condition of the Princess' dress would have caused some concern). Once she had finished, the Sorceress dismissed her ethereal brush with a wave of her hand and rose. "Well, let's get on with it, shall we? We have yet to see what it looks like on the inside," she said.

The Princess stood while the Sorceress took out the brochure and examined the list of enchantments again. "I think your little... mishap... triggered all of these top enchantments," the Sorceress said.

"Good. Now we can finally go in," the Princess said purposefully. She walked to the door and once again grabbed the handle.

"Wait, Princess!" cried the Sorceress in alarm, "The list continues! Those were only for the first attempt. It gets much worse if you try again!"

"Worse?" the Princess said as she turned back to the Sorceress. With her hand still on the handle, however, the motion was just enough for a firm jerk. Her face quickly lost its newly restored color as she heard a familiar 'click'.

To Be Continued...

____________________________________________

What?! How can I stop there?! :P I know, I know. Don't worry. I'm only stopping here because this took longer than I thought to write and I want to give you guys something after so long. In my head, this is only the first half of this 'chapter', so expect the continuation soon. In the meantime, tell me what you think of the dialogue: how it's written, how it's presented, how it fits with the setting. Oh, and how many of you thought the Sorceress was old and plain (not that she isn't older than the Princess)? To be honest, I hadn't decided until I wrote it, and I'm still not sure what I think of it. And if you're wondering where the blue hair thing originally came from, then just ask Spautz.

I wonder how this would be as a comic...

Twilight out.

Superheroes and Fairy Tales

2005-06-06T23:39:00.000-04:00

I saw Spider-Man 2 again tonight for the second time, and I still love the ending. You know, when Mary Jane decides to ditch Mr. Astronaut for Peter? It reminds me of "Wild at Heart," when John Eldredge talks about Eve being described as Adam's helper in Genesis. The word used, Eldredge explains, is ezer, which means life-saver or life-giver. What's more, he says, the only other times you find it in the Bible, it's referring to God Himself. Not a term to take lightly. How does this relate to Spidey, you ask? I'll tell you, but let's remember the scene.

Mary Jane has just walked in on a pensive and unsuspecting Peter Parker, still wearing her wedding dress ("Hey! I ordered Chinese!"). She then proceeds to tell him of her choice to be with him, despite the danger or the cost. She says how she needs him, and how they shouldn't be apart if they're meant to be together. Then, as she touches his cheek, she says, "Isn't it time someone saved your life?" Ah. There it is. Chanelling Eve. She may be saving his life in a metaphorical sense, but she is bringing a real breath of life into his world. We even see, throughout the movie, how he loses his powers whenever she drifts away from him. So Mary Jane bravely defies a life of comfort and listens to her heart. She offers Peter warmth, and tenderness, and love, so that he can be the warrior and hero he's destined to be. A comic turned fairy tale. Oh, and what are her final words to him in the film, when trouble calls for Spider-man? "Go get 'em, Tiger." Go, be what you're supposed to be. Go be a man.

Or mabye I'm being too romantic. You may vomit now if you like.
___________________________________________________________________

Here it is, lads and lasses. The long-awaited product of the Will McCain Word Foundry. As per Becky's request, I tried my hand at a fairy tale. It's little more than a rough draft, so let the feedback fly.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, and like all beautiful princesses, she had many princes seeking her hand. Prince after prince would come to court her, praising her beauty and describing the glorious life she would have as a queen in a far away land. She would smile and laugh, but every time she would decline. Hers was a good life and a peaceful kingdom. What need was there for her to marry? Still, the suitors came.

As word of her coyness spread, she became known for more than her beauty. A royal competition soon developed to see who could win her favor. Many princes tried using the “101 Perfect Poems for Pursuing Princesses”, to which the Princess would answer with the “101 Riling Retorts for Royal Romancing (and One Really Nasty Insult).” Even thus spurned, the princes continued to come.

The Princess began to tire of the constant attention. She feigned sickness, took long trips across the kingdom, and even dressed like (and was mistaken for) a servant girl on several occasions. Nothing worked. Then, while grumpily cleaning a bedpan one day, she realized that the princes would not stop coming while she remained at the castle. That gave her an idea.

In those days of yore, it was common to have sorceresses attending to the needs of royalty with knowledge now long forgotten. One day, the Princess took a sorceress friend of hers aside and told her of her problem and her plan to fix it.

“Sealed in a distant tower? Princess, that seems a bit rash to me. I know that these princes are tiresome, but surely they do not call for such extremes. You do seek to marry, do you not?” the Sorceress replied.

“One day, assuredly, but not as soon as my courtiers would have of me. I only wish to remove myself from here for a short while. Isolation in an enchanted tower will do well to help these bored princes forget me and their silly contest,” the Princess said.

“Nonetheless, I do not like the deception you suggest. If we are discovered, I will never salvage my good name. People will forever tell the tale of the poor princess imprisoned by the evil sorceress. Why, they might even say it was a witch. Oh, that would be disgrace upon humiliation,” moaned the reluctant Sorceress.

“Oh, speak not of such things. We shall not be uncovered, and I will forever remember the love you held for me in doing this service. Though, perhaps spreading the tale of a spiteful or jealous witch would make it all the more believable,” the Princess reasoned.

“We will do no such thing!" exclaimed the Sorceress. She sighed, "Oh, very well. I will help you, Princess. But just so you know, I have a very bad feeling about all of this.” The jubilant Princess then led the Sorceress away to make preparations for their great deception.

To be continued...

Twilight out.

This is getting out of hand

2005-05-30T21:49:00.000-04:00

Just a quick poll: who still reads this? If you read but never comment, that's okay. Just post a quick 'here' to let me know my audience.

I didn't want to write this. I guess it's better to say that I didn't want to take the time. Comfort is such an addictive thing. Once you get used to it, you start to forget that good things often come with a price. You get used to mediocrity, like an obnoxious cousin whom you share a bed with during a family reunion in the mountains. You don't like him there, but he keeps the bed warm.

Well, here's to a cold night.

I wonder how many drafts I'm going to go through. I've already deleted two paragraphs that I felt were under-par. Yes, under-par for a blog. Perhaps the only reason I'm still writing is because I remembered that I like my writing better when my mind is peaceful and happy and my thoughts can focus. Now, words fail me. Not completely, but like a machete when a scalpel was needed. They feel unwieldy, clumsy, and limp. It's because they mirror my thoughts right now. The funny thing is, I don't feel depressed. Well, not clinically. I'm just reflecting on everything that's been happening -or failing to- since I returned from the Peace Corps. I know that there's nothing for me to do but pick myself up and do better, but, nevertheless, I can't help sighing.

The picking myself up came from my talk with my shrink today. To point, it wasn't a morale boost. However, I should also point out firstly, that I have never felt comfortable talking to this doctor but still go to see him after four years, secondly, that he's a psychiatrist, not a counselor or psychologist (at least, I don't think so), and thirdly, he was using tough love.

So, anyway, he's asking what I've been up to in the last three or four months (long time since the last visit), and I say the usual: lookin' fer a jehb, driving places, and keeping myself otherwise distracted. No projects, no exercise, I answer him. Then, as if reaching into my own mind, he pulls out a familiar question: "How can you live with yourself?"

I knew at once that this was the "tough love." Surprised me, actually. I guess I'm becoming a more troublesome case. Secretly, however, I felt like this guy was a waste of my time since my medicine is doing its neurological trick and he's just my supplier, yo. So, my answer? "I ask myself that a lot."

The rest of the session was talk about me being more active; taking up some exercise and whatnot. Sage advise, but I have a horrible track record with it. Another sigh.

Wait, wait, wait. (Those were added in later for dramatic flare. Ooo!)

As I sit here, I see myself sliding down. Down to pessimism, down to hopelessness, down to a cold, cold heart. I don't want that. I'm quite fearful of it, actually. It frightens me to think about what a Will like that would do.

So, change of plans. I was going to continue my deprecating combo with a punch explaining why I am so often the instrument of my own failure and then follow through with a kick to the crotch of my future, but it's getting just a little too dark for me. I feel, or maybe even become, what I write, and I'm not going to write myself into oblivion.

I will hold on.

I will push onward.

I will press that flickering flame of hope and faith to my chest and wrap my world around it.

(I will have to do something about these mood swings.)

I Will.

Twilight out.

The Four Laws of Staying Cool

2005-05-19T00:45:00.000-04:00

I was talking to Spautz earlier today, and he asked me how I remained as relaxed as I do. Well, never one to keep arcane secrets to myself, I gave him some pointers made up on the spot. I figured they were worth posting.

One: Make a point not to worry yourself to the point of physical duress. Once it goes beyond simple emotions, LET IT GO. If you can't do anything more about something, don't let it torture you.

Two: Remember that, one way or another, things work out in the end. Life isn't a solo game, and when we fail or fall, it's usually not as disastrous as we imagine.

Three: Don't be afraid to chill. Relax. Stretch out. Explore the soft curves of a nice piece of furniture. Give your mind some time to wander and forget about deadlines. The rest of you will appreciate it.

Fourth (and this is most assuredly not last): Faith. God has good plans for us. Trust in them.

This is really just a placeholder until I finish the story I owe Becky. Soon. Real soon!
hehe... ^_^'

Twilight on hold.

Earthsong Saga

2005-05-13T14:35:00.000-04:00

I've not been in the mood to post recently, but I said I'd talk about Earthsong Saga, and dagnabit, I'm going to. Of course, having Arnold nag you about updating helps (I'm appreciative of it. Really.) ;)

There's nothing terribly ground-breaking about this webcomic. No drunken appliances, no angsty androids, no magical fezzes. No posturing or pretension, either, just the singular satisfaction of good storytelling. And a most lovely lady.

Okay, so I'm a bit dazzled. Let me start from the beginnning.

I was checking out the fanart for another webcomic (Inverloch, which is also worth looking at), when I found a crossover drawing with a curious girl called Willow (that's her up there) from another comic called the Saga of Earthsong.

It would be safe to say that Willow was what drew me to Earthsong. As I read, I found that this lavender-skinned, snow-haired, curly-locked girl with amethyst eyes was more than beautiful to me. She was captivating in the special way that two-dimensional characters can be: as personifications. Oh, she had the tender allure of kind innocence, but there was more. She had grace. Every shadowed hue on her face and neck, every demure gesture, and every fold of her dress screamed out that here was a Lady.

Although Willow is the star, she has quite the supporting cast. Every character drips with personality. More than that, though, each is based off of a legend. Part of the story involves people returning home from the adventure set out in the comic with scattered memories of strange beings. These became our gargoyles, our valkyries, our gorgons. The author (Crystal "Lady" Yates) actually encourages her readers to research the myths that lay behind her characters. Also, every new name in the comic, she has said, will always have a meaning behind it. I find this a refreshing devotion to quality and depth, especially in a webcomic. Not to mention the artist herself, who once stayed up until 4 AM working on a page in order to get it out on time.

As for the story itself, it strikes me as somewhere between Final Fantasy and Disney. The plot involves living planets as the Powers That Be, which immediately harkens to Final Fantasy 7. Excepting, of course, that these planets have minds and personalities. I find Disney in the balance between plot and characterization. Yes, these are people with depth and with tales to tell, but what matters is the plot. Whether the characters are center stage or vehicles for the story, the plot is the focus, and its telling the purpose. That's what gets you in the end. While you're rooting for the characters, you're drawn in by the story.

Speaking of the story, you'll note I've said very little about it. I wanted this post to be primarily an endorsement. You now know how much I like this comic, and if you know me, then you know the weight of that sentiment and can gauge your decision accordingly. Besides, I had to leave you something to find if you decide to read! Aside from the pretty art.

Rich characters.
Detailed plot.
Beautiful art.
Dedication to storytelling.
What more could you ask for?

As for me, I have a pretty girl in a dress and choker, and I'm going to enjoy every minute.

Twilight out.

Something rotten in Denmark

2005-05-03T21:36:00.000-04:00

I knew I'd start begrudging this thing. I'm just not a journal kind of guy. Should I make something of that? Is it just another manifestation of my lack of discipline? Is it just not something that goes with my nature? Is that an easy cop-out? Eh.

Sit back, kiddos, and let me tell you a story. There was once a boy. He was a happy boy, and full of life. He loved, more than anything, to make things up. He would write stories or draw up designs for fantastic inventions. He gathered up a treasure of these designs over the years, and even tried his hand at designing Mega Man sequels. Some said he was a braggart, far too proud of the scientific knowledge he lorded over his classmates. Then, things began to change. As high school began to approach, he began to design and write less. Where before he let loose words and lines with glee, he now eyed them suspiciously, wondering if they were good enough. He now felt the world hovering around him like an audience, and he had to perform. All the things he loved were now his path to glory. Where once there was free creativity, now there were slaves. Soon he looked outward for his guidance, and weighed his worth by how pleased people were with him. The weight became too much for his proud soul, and disappointment reigned in the court of joy. His ego fell, and he cheered on its demise, but it fell too far and too hard. The towers of wonder crashed down, and the single voice of beauty took on the countless tongues of doubt.

Well, that's a poetic and romantic version of what I think may have lead me from my carefree creative youth to my current frustrated self. I will avoid the anime cliché of marking one single event in my past as the turning point in my life. But introspection is my thing, and I have plenty of time to indulge it.

I'll be moving to Charleston soon. I don't have a job lined up yet, but I will. I'll be living with Arnold and probably Roger. Should be sweet. I hope my hands can withstand the sudden increase in gaming, though. :)

These posts are really self-centered, aren't they? I should have something other than myself to talk about. Oh! Maybe next time I'll talk about Earthsong Saga, a webcomic I've fallen in love with. Maybe I'll link pictures, too. Hmm...

Twilight out.

Untethered Heart

2005-04-23T00:53:00.000-04:00

I was reading 'Captivating' earlier tonight, which is basically 'Wild at Heart' for women. (Yes, yes, rag away.) While reading the section about accepting God's help, I was pierced by the writer's comment on how God was once to her too intimidating for real relationship, whereas Jesus 'liked me.' Although at first my thoughts turned, as they always do, to my disappointment in having little to no relationship with Christ(at least in my mind), a new thought-a retort-entered my mind.

"So what if He likes me?"

I was amazed and terrified by this new thought. Relentlessly, it marched on, a procession of doubt. What was God to me? Even considering His love, how did that help me? What does His love do for me, in the end? He is the path to salvation, certainly, but how do I go about loving Him? If I actually love Him but continue to second-guess, then how can I trust my feelings? And if can trust my feelings, then how does one create love? I suppose I should have listened to the quiet, guilty urge inside me to pick up my Bible, but I chose instead to sleep.

While I slept, I dreamed. The details are strange and unimportant, but what matters is what I was doing. In this dream, I was a loose cannon. On two occasions, someone said something to annoy me, and I reacted with violence. I was at fault in the scene I remember clearest, but stormed over to confront my victim, who backed away from me. He fell onto a staircase and hurt himself in doing so, but I simply stomped away, uncaring and still fuming. Later in the dream, I was in shambles. I was, I believe, writing down questions for God, such as "Why do I act this way?" and "What do I do?" Then, the questions disappeared, and I heard-or felt-a voice that told me to get up and do what I knew was right. So I stood, meek and feared at the same time, and returned to the person I had wronged. With clear, decisive movement, I got down on my hand and knees, bowed my head, and asked forgiveness for what I had done. I received it. At that moment, I awoke.

If you know my spiritual struggle, you know that direction is among the top ten of things I long for. Top five, actually. I often say how much I wish that God would simply tell me what he wanted me to do. It's not like I have other plans. I'm starting to think that maybe God likes subtlety. I've known that asking God to just tell me was a preposterous notion, and this perhaps drives it home. He wants me to seek Him, doesn't He? He doesn't want a drone to do His bidding, He wants a son. And in order to accept that, I have to come to terms with my shame, and finally accept that I, filthy to the core and underserving, am... saved.

If you'll indulge me a bit further, this dreams make me feel like a prophet of sorts. With the other dream I had a while ago about people from all of the world's religions singing together on a sinking stage, I'm wondering if He's chosen at least one way of telling me things.

I talk a lot about how much work I have to do on my Christian journey, but when it comes down to doing it, I'm scared. There is still the Kingdom of Will in my heart, and I don't look forward to tearing it down. And what will I become? Something holy, of course, but that doesn't help with the pain. *Sigh* Why do I always stipulate everything? I'm looking at the door of life while wondering how painful it is to wake the dead. Well, it's gonna hurt like hell, 'cause that's what I've gotta get rid of. This is the business of redeeming souls, sonny, not going on picnics! Now shake a leg! Though bring the basket, there may be some hungry people on the way...

Twilight out.

Comp Post

2005-04-17T23:24:00.000-04:00

Because it's a composition post. And it makes for funny. Laugh, masses!

Anyway, during a period of pensive loneliness, the first two sentences popped into my head, and I felt compelled to write them down. The rest wrote itself (with a little editing afterwards). As of yet untitled.
______________________________________________________

Fine, I said. You didn't want to be here, so I let you go. Now I'm alone. You thought that'd give you the upper hand, didn't you? You thought I'd crack and run to you in whimpers. But solitude is my friend. You forgot that these silent walls and the quiet road are both my kin. They know me in all those ways that don't need words. And no matter what, they're always here. The ceiling and the sky smile down on me. The sun winks at my floor lamp. Oh, they know. I can always count on their arms to be open, because they're always empty. So keep on walking. You'll only get tired. Meanwhile, I'll be sitting here, forgetting you and everything else that tried to make me more than I am. I'll just sit here under the cover of silence, staring into nothing. Keep your turning world. The emptiness is always here, and it never asks anything of me.
______________________________________________________

Twilight out.

My happy place

2005-04-08T22:47:00.000-04:00

It has been mere minutes since 'Kim Possible: So the Drama' ended, and I am basking in the magnificent glow of warm fuzzies. It was sooo... oh, it was more than cute! *giggles* That's right! I don't care! It was good and romantic, and I'm going to savor every delectable bite! Wait, what's this feeling under my eyes? Hey, I'm smiling! All right! I've missed you, buddy! Welcome back to my face! Purr, baby. Very purr.

While I am on the subject of peaceful, easy feelings, let me talk about the other day. Which day isn't important, because what I'm about to talk about goes beyond normal reckonings. I walked out the front door on a recent morning to check the mail, but I found far more. I was greeted, in fact, by Spring. I capitalize because it was the first time I had ever felt a season. It was like the sun and air had convened to decide the perfect temperature for me. The flowers had stretched their petals like sunbathers, and everything around me felt young. I remembered C.S. Lewis' 'Perelandra', and I felt like Venus herself had descended upon me. It was as if the dreariness of my soul was washed away and its youth restored. I felt vitality and strength within me. Autumn is still my favorite season, but, oh, for the kiss of Spring!

I just watched the movie again. I glowed. The feeling fades, especially with repeated watchings. But those moments, those precious, untouchable moments when it's not cool, or neat, or awesome, just pure, I feel alive... *sigh* This is why I love animation.

The Smelting Pot

2005-03-29T20:19:00.000-05:00

Yardwork. Bleh. To be fair, I did enjoy seeing the lawn nice and clean. It was also nice to lay on the grass and watch the dogs play-fight. And play-hump. Earlier, while Ajax was on a leash screwed into the ground, he ran towards Teddy and snapped the plastic buckle on his collar in two. He's a hoss! Gotta love labs...

After I took a shower, I prepared for a nap by reading a little 'The Problem of Pain'. Lewis was talking about the Fall(and concocted a lengthy 'myth' for it that was beautiful and tragic) and about Man's placement of himself at the center of life. I was reminded that I am still in this situation. Although unsettling, it was a healthy awareness. What gave me a mental lurch was how comfortable I had become in this state. Yet I am... saved? It's so impossible to believe that I almost don't. I think I'm still stuck somewhere between true Faith and my own kind of Existentialism, where I am master of my fate. I've learned, though, not to give my thoughts too much weight, since they are often very heavily weighed with emotion. So, I could just be feeling particulary filthy tonight as my sin and fallenness nauseate my spirit. Don't get me wrong. I want awareness of them. I just don't want to be crippled by them. Second opinions are, of course, welcome.

If you'll allow me to switch gears, I'll move on to what I was planning to post today. In printing out selected writings of mine for a portfolio, I found something I had written last year at the request of my psychiatrist. He wanted me to write up a description of a normal day for me in my village in Senegal, both from my perspective and that of a local. I had forgotten about it. Looking over it again, I thought my friends and readers would find it interesting. So read on, playa, read on.

_______________________________________________________________

It’s morning. I stretch a little, but I don’t get up yet. I enjoy the stillness around me while listening to the world waking up outside. Soon enough, I’m reminded that I can’t lie around forever. My cats are already up. They probably have been for a while. The feisty one, though, is impatient. He begins to nibble at my earlobe. It feels pretty good, actually, but it doesn’t let me rest. I get up, muttering words of patience to my cats as they begin to cry for food. Another day has officially begun.

Once the cats are satisfied, I throw some clothes on. I have to rummage for something that isn’t dirty or dusty. Yeah, looks like I need to do laundry today. Plus ten other things I’d like to get accomplished. Once I’m dressed, I take a deep breath and open the door.

I brace myself with every step away from my hut. It doesn’t take long for the locals to notice me, and the greetings spring up all around me. I reply, saying “Asalamalekum” or “Malekumsalam,” depending on whether I’m greeting or being greeted, respectively. I soon arrive at the crossroads near my hut where three wooden beds sit under a large Neem tree. It’s where I can always find my village father. Today, like every other morning, he is sitting behind a bench lined with bread freshly baked in mud stoves, ready to sell them off to other villagers. As his ‘son,’ though, I get it free.

I shake my father’s hand, take a loaf, and sit down to eat. By now everyone knows I don’t like to have any of the coffee they love, so I drink my filtered water. I stare at the ground while I eat, hoping to avoid conversation with passersby or those sitting around me. Sometimes I’m successful. When I’m not, I speak curtly. I try to be polite, but someone says something annoying and I lose all concern for appearances. When I feel like I’ve stayed long enough to satisfy courtesy, I rise and return to my hut.

I do have reasons to come back right after eating. I like to brush my teeth, for instance. I also have to take my malaria prophylaxis, my OCD medicine, and my vitamins. I don’t even try to pass off taking my medicines as rationalization. I’m thankful to have a reason to leave them, but it doesn’t bother me.

Once my hygiene is out of the way, I take a mental assessment of what I want to do today. I have a list in my head of all the things I want to do to improve my hut, but I only have the materials to work on some of them. I remember my duty to ‘socialize’ with the village, and grudgingly tell myself to work that into my schedule.

I decide to do some woodwork while the morning is still cool. I get the tools I need from around my room and take them outside. I’m careful to shut the door behind me so the cats won’t follow me out. I like them running around, actually, but I’m afraid they’ll get into trouble. Most of the villagers are wary or plain scared of cats. I like the kitties even more for that reason.

I begin working on a plank of wood I brought back a couple of weeks ago. I want to make an armoire and a door for my outside fence, but working it is tough. What I wouldn’t give for a circular saw. It’s even harder since I feel so weak. I should be more worried about my decreasing strength, but I gave up caring a while ago. It feels like I gave up lots of things a while ago. While I’m working, various people stop by. I imagine that they’ve been wondering where the “toubab” was. It’s the same thing with each of them. They call my name, greet me, and ask what I’m doing. This frustrates me, since I’m standing with my hand still on the handle of the saw and the saw still in the plank of wood. I tell them that I’m working, and that I don’t want any help. They soon leave, and I can return to my work- my only solace.

The day is getting hot fast, and everyone, including myself, begins to slow down. Lunch gets brought to me, but I hardly touch it. I’ve developed a distaste for rice since being in Senegal. Not a good thing, since it’s the main course. Anyway, it’s time for me to enjoy some time alone. Nobody does much in the heat of the day, so I can relax in my hut for a few hours without feeling guilty for it. If I’m sleepy, I’ll take a nap with my kittens. If I’m just feeling lazy, I’ll play my Game Boy. If I’m feeling like a little reading, though, I’ll pick up one of the many dusty books I have yet to build a bookshelf for. It doesn’t take long for the early afternoon to pass into late.

After spending so much time alone, I decide that it’s my duty to go out and greet people. I brace myself again as I leave my hut. The evening is, in many ways, nicer than morning. The heat is fading instead of growing. I greet my family first, and then do walk-by greetings of everyone else in the village. Sometimes I stop, but I make sure not to stay too long. It’s usually only a matter of time before someone begins to annoy me and put me in a foul mood, so I try to stay just long enough to seem polite. It’s not even an hour, though, before I’m back in my hut for my favorite part of the day.

It’s about 6:00 or so by now, and from here on out, it’s my time. I fill up a large bucket of water from my father’s faucet, and prepare for a bucket bath. I wash off the sweat and dirt from a hot day with my satellite radio playing American tunes in the background and the sun setting behind my cement wall. It does wonders to relax me and lighten my mood.

It’s beginning to get dark when my bath is done, so I light my propane lantern. Depending on my mood, I’ll either read or play some more Game Boy until my supper arrives. When it does, I say a quick thank you and get my stash of raisins. The food they give me is millet and fresh milk from the cows that have recently been terrorizing my straw roof. I turn on my radio again and enjoy my favorite meal of the day (if you get the raisins and milk just right, it almost tastes like Raisin Bran). I take the bowls back to my father’s house when I’m done. I turn off my flashlight and walk as soft as I can to make sure that no one notices me and asks me to come and talk. I walk back to my hut quickly, sometimes stopping in the road to stare at the stars for a bit.

Once back in my hut, I sometimes think about my situation. Everyday is the same. Is it realistic for me to expect things to get better? Is this what I should be doing? Is this just a trial for me to get through? I have plenty of time to think, but no answers come. In the end, I tuck another day under my belt, and hope things look better tomorrow. ‘Night, kitties.

Ah, here comes Fallou. He’s been here a month but he still doesn’t speak much. He doesn’t smile much, either. I wonder how a toubab like him feels in this village. He can buy whatever he wants, plus he has all those things he brought with him from America. I don’t know why he looks so unhappy. Of course, I hardly see him outside of his hut. How can he be happy all alone? How can anyone? He should come and sit with us more. He needs to talk and laugh. But maybe that’s how his people like it. It doesn’t seem like he’s learning our language very well, either. At least, I think that’s what he’s here for. He never talks, so how would I know? I thought he wanted to fit in, so I’ve tried to help him, give him advice. It just seems to make him angry. My friends wonder about him, too, but it’s up to his father in the end if he’s having problems. I have enough work with the rains approaching. Besides, who knows what goes on inside the mind of a toubab.

______________________________________________________________

"Everyone feels benevolent if nothing happens to be annoying him at the moment."
-C.S. Lewis, 'The Problem of Pain'

Jiggling the Handle

2005-03-21T14:20:00.000-05:00

I have fallen quite behind on my updates for someone with nothing better to do. Of course, with nothing better to do, there isn't much reason to update. Ah... life's little ironies. Let's roll.

First off, I'm not going to be submitting anything to the DCF film festival. The betting types among you may collect your winnings now. I haven't thrown the idea to the dogs, though. It's on a back burner while I develop the story idea further and hone my artistic skills (which may end up being less merciful than a quick death). One thing I'm thinking of is posting snippets of story here. I may write up some 'future history' as I work out the background, then maybe some specific scenes. I think feedback here would be good for my writing. Well, I hope.

Another thing that has recently joined my previous idea in the Quill and Parchment section of my mind is my idea for a series of Star Wars novels. Huzzah bubbah whaa~?. Yeah, I know. I had the idea for it after playing Knights of the Old Republic for the PC. Hubbah bubba Max. Claymation lizards, heehee... Anyway, the story would be about a Third Order of the Force forming, separate from Jedi and Sith yet trying to balance the two out. As Arnold pointed out, though, such groups are always opposed by both sides. Instead of discouraging me, I became excited; it'd make for a gripping story. What furrows my brow in frustration is my Viagraless impotence in the realm of Star Wars knowledge extending beyond the films. I am wary of venturing into the maelstrom of Star Wars fandom in what would amount to a canoe. I would ask for help if I thought anyone reading this could help. Since this blog doesn't regularly talk about the proper mining techniques for lightsaber crystals, much less the variety of photonic shafts that can be extracted from them, I'll keep myself in restraint.

Oh, yes. I have gaming news. Under the auspices of visiting Arnold (heehee), I acquired some new titles. I had already asked him to pick me up a $15 EyeToy with game (quite a value), and I got Dance Dance Revolution Extreme to augment my new gadget. Now I just need a DDR mat. There's even a Workout mode! I'm still hoping I can pickaxe my butt into finally doing some Yoga, thus rendering that particular mode unnecessary. I also picked up Ephemeral Phantasia (it caught my eye and was cheap) and Kingdom Hearts (heard good things... 3 years ago). As for Arnold's place, it is now a throbbing orgy of video gaming goodness, with multiple party games and now both DDR and Karaoke Revolution (which I apparently suck at). I must thank you, DDR, for giving me just cause to remove my pants before a girl.

Finally, I now begin the heart of my job search. I get to send in requests to Life Careers for info from their (esspensive) database on industries, companies, or even locations that might interest me. Then I get to beg them to hire me. At least I'll have pinstriped padding for my knees.

So, in closing, I'd like to wish Jeromie focus in his final degree work, Becky fortitude in her continuing efforts, Arnold patience with Charleston drivers, Spautz, well, sleep, and Laura peace with a very unsettling period in her life (Believe me, I sympathize). If anyone else is reading this blog, please tell me. I'll squeal with joy. Or do the Whee Dance, your choice.

Twilight out.

Hippocrene Café

2005-03-09T14:09:00.000-05:00

I was sitting on the hill, watching the bustle of life around me in the sunset, when he came and sat next to me. There were a few moments of silence. Perhaps he was enjoying the evening, though I prefer to think he was waiting for the best moment to pounce. It wasn't long before he did.

"So, what's the drama today?" he asked.

I sighed, "You always have to be so negative."

"I'm only as bad as my material," he responded.

I grimaced, "Why do you even want to know, then? You can always leave if I'm such a buzzkill."

"You know I can't do that. Now spill."

"Well...," I started, "it's about writing. I keep on coming back to it in my mind, and I'm always wracked with guilt that I haven't made any great effort to start."

"So why don't you just start? If you have this much time to waste, you might as well get on with it."

"Well, I would if I had any good ideas to write about," I said with what I guess was a pout.

"Perfectionist’s Dilemma," he said flatly.

"Oh,” I said. I tried to think, “Uh… I’m afraid of writing something disappointing and becoming disillusioned.”

"Coward’s Escape," he immediately provided.

"Well, there’s always the problem of my poor discipline.”

“Self-fulfilling Prophecy and Worrier’s Hideaway,” he replied, raising a finger for each one.

“Hmm. I think I’m out,” I said.

"Good, now we can move on," he said. Then he turned to me, and I was caught by the intensity in his eyes. “Are you ready to face this like a man?”

“Like a man?” I asked.

“Yes, without excuses, facing your fears. You’ve always felt this was your destiny, your calling. So do it. You wanted an adventure, and here it is. Are you going to hide behind those tired excuses or are you ready to live?”

I’m not sure what it was. The fire laden on each word he spoke, maybe, or the way he leaned in close as if telling me some great mystery. Whatever it was, I felt the heat rising in my blood. My fists clenched. I stood up and shouted, “Yes! I’m ready! I will break the chains I tied around myself! I will march down the road of destiny! I-“

“Will?”

A concerned voice spoke to me from beside the table upon which I had one fist planted and one raised triumphantly into the air. I looked around at the startled and amused faces of the other coffee shop patrons, and slowly took my seat while hoping that my cheeks would stop burning soon.

My friend placed her bag on the table and took a seat across from me. “I agree to meet you here, and this is what I find,” she said, shaking her head. Then, she looked at me and smiled. “You’d think I’d be used to you talking to yourself by now.” Everyone was returning to their business, and she began thinking about what she wanted to order.

“Honestly,” she said absent-mindedly, “if you have this much time to waste, you might as well get on with something useful, like that writing you always talk about.”

Despite myself, and the stares that followed, I laughed.

Twilight out

Photopooost!

2005-03-04T12:17:00.000-05:00

As most things in my life right now are in a state of development, there isn't much to report. At least, nothing too exciting. Well, we did get Dish Network at home, so now I get radio through my TV. Spiffy.

Fear not, though. I won't leave my dear readers hanging. I took some pictures recently, some artistic and some canine. For those unfamiliar with my family's doggy freeloaders, we have a lazy but cute cocker spaniel named Teddy and a rowdy but beautiful lab-mix named Ajax (it was my father's call. I dunno.) And so, while my life digs its roots down into the water of accomplishment, I ask you to enjoy these, my

STILL ALIVE STILLS

First, the artsy stuff. Not long ago, my father took me out to some land of ours where there used to be a cemetary. All that remains now are a number of tombstones.

This gives you an idea of what the place looks like. Of course, I think it looks better in B&W:

This is another shot that I think looks better in B&W. Basically just the opposite direction from the previous photo.

My favorite B&W photo I took that day. I love how the light falls so strongly on the stone while falling softer on the background.

I do have a good color photo! This photo says something, but I'm not sure yet what it is.

Before I left, I noticed an abandoned deer stand. I didn't expect the twilight colors to come out so well. A particularly fitting photo for this site.

Now! Onto the dogs! Most of these are of Ajax, since I think he's prettier and is a 'real' dog in action and form. When Teddy walks, it's just an ovular mass of fur and flesh with four furry stumps moving back and forth. With Ajax, though, you can watch as his spine slides back and forth like a serpent along his lengthy frame. Ajax is strong, too, especially at only 9 months. I like to think of him as our little black horse. Who likes to hump.

This shot took a while to get. Ajax doesn't like to stand still, and when he does, it's either with his face or back to you. Whenever I walked off to his side, he'd turn in closer to me. Endearing, yes, but it lead to a lot of wasted pics.

Isn't he cute?! I think I was holding a ball in my other hand, thus his focused gaze.

The quintessential Lab photo.

Or maybe this one is.

One of his most endearing habits is to lean up against your legs when you tell him to sit. He just hates to be alone. Such a pity we keep him in a pen. :^(

This is Teddy.

This is how he spends most of his time.

This is him looking exceedingly pathetic. Beware the eyes! "You will give me food, human." Noooo....

Ajax trying to, uh, play with Teddy. Poor *snicker* Teddy...

Teddy getting fed up.

Whassat, Ajax? You like it when Teddy fights back? You think he's playing. Aww, well sucks for Teddy.

I really don't hate Teddy(heck, he sleeps with me), but it's good to see them acting like dogs. Cockers seem to forget how to do that, sometimes. In my mind, you should hear a nice, deep thump when you pat a dog's chest. Teddy is more of a thap.

Well, those are me pics. I hope they weren't too big. Dial-up still sucks.

Twilight Out!

The Life of Will, Scene 1. Action.

2005-02-20T21:40:00.000-05:00

It's time for an update. Yay! Do I get my cameo now?! Not yet, wait a bit. 'Kaaay.

How many people say that to themselves in a grumble, wishing that they didn't feel the personal duty to post something on a site? Maybe we're all just lazy. Or maybe, in my case, I wish I felt more eloquent than I do tonight.

I'll spare you all the Life Career stuff, since it really won't be interesting until I actually get a job lead or unless I have some Will-shattering revelation. Either sound like fun.

My friend Arnold invited me to a 'carnivale' this weekend that some friends of his have invited him to. It's something that a 'Society for Creative Anachronism' does. It seems like another version of Rennaissance Faire, from what I've gathered. Unfortunately, Jeromie will be too busy to go, but I'm looking forward to it, nonetheless. It's going to be a masked ball kind of event, and I have chosen to make my own mask after having an idea for one while talking to Arnold. It's going to be a wide circlet thing with a sheet of fabric falling over my face and some design above it. I hope. Should all go well, there will likely be links to pictures here soon after the event.

The DCF film festival feels like is rushing towards me. I've been telling myself not to spread this around lest I get people's hopes up, but I'm going to try and enter an animated short. I've had an idea for a story building for some time now, but everytime I imagine it, it's either an anime or a manga. It's not ready to tell yet, but I have enough ideas to make a trailer. I just hope I have the talent and the confidence to see this through to the end. I would be so proud of myself.

I warned you about my lack of eloquence before. Just remember that before I start. Right now, I feel so much more than I think. It's a common thread in my life. I act on intuition most times, not reason. I'm an emotional guy, and it seems like a lot of those emotions are negative. As I finished writing that previous paragraph, I looked at myself, and I saw a small, terrified man. He's scared of not doing anything, of having nothing of worth to claim, of being ignored, and of letting grand ideas fade away. He's scared of being like the little black cocker that lays on his bed: alive, but with no fire, no soul. Should I have none of my projects or dreams, what would there be? What would I be? This all sounds so sickeningly existential, but I can't get it out of my head. My head knows Christ is all. It knows that I needn't worry about the things of this life. But my heart is consumed with anxiety and fear about what I do every day. Maybe that's what gives me my artistic edge, tiny as it may be.

...so, now is it time for my cameo?
Sure. These people need cheering up somehow.
Aw, crap. Did you give them the meaning of life speech again? What do I have to work with now?
....sorry.

Progress in the works

2005-02-14T21:19:00.000-05:00

Time for a much-needed update. I liken writing about my life to scraping the Jiffy tub for that last bit of peanut butter. That being said, I hope you had a big dinner. :)

I started the day in a desperate battle. Late last night, someone broke into my room. He wasn't armed, but he wasn't expecting a fight, either. We wrestled for a long time, and our short, quiet grunts were the only sounds betraying the solitary battle. We were both becoming tired, but he was the first to try and flee the way he came in. I refused to let him go so easily, and I spent the last bits of my strength trying to hold him down. In the end, everything ended as it had begun so long ago in the middle of the night, and sleep, once again, got away.

Aww, Will, you had us thinking that something exciting was happening in your life. I hope I actually did, voice in my head, but things aren't quite so disappointing if you look at things the right way. Take my writing for example. You mean lack thereof? Hush, now. I'm talking.

The company that is helping me with my career path, Life Careers, first wants to get to know me. To accomplish this, they first had me write out my 15 proudest accomplishments (along with dream job stuff, too). In coming up with them, I was reminded of 3rd grade. It was then that I can first clearly remember writing short stories for the sheer pleasure of it. It was also then that I began my grammar-school-long hobby of drawing out ideas for wondrous inventions. Marvels of kiddy science, really. At any rate, spending my idle moments ordering words around became an on-and-off hobby during my younger years. Upon arriving at Clemson, though, it stopped. I have often wondered at this, especially considering how much writing had become a part of my personal identity. After a bit of soul-searching, this is my preliminary prognosis: I am afraid.

It might sound strange to be afraid of your own ideas, but I think that over the years a deep fear of failure and disappointment has grown within me. It touches every part of my life now. I think it also masquerades as the fatigue I feel with life at times, when my only response is a bitter pride in an old soul who's really too young to know the difference.

I said this was only the prognosis, though. A treatment of courage and godliness falls to me for administration. Beset on all sides by mediocrity and voices that would have me stay safe and comfortable, I will now be put to the test. My heart is under seige. Adventure is upon me, friends. It always has been. Cheer for me as battle comes, weep for me when I must strike myself down, and smile for me as I spill my life for Truth and Beauty. The Victory, for us all, is already won, and all we know now is only the beginning.

Nicely said.
Thanks.
...can I come back next rant?
Keep on sucking up and we'll see.

Measures approaching drastic

2005-02-09T14:23:00.000-05:00

This past week, I signed up with a career development company to help me find a job. I guess that's the best way to describe them. I can't say I know any other companies with their particular mission. They're like a head hunter or temp agency in that they want to get you a job. But what makes them different is their focus on you as a person. They are dedicated to learning about your desires, finding your skills, developing a way to market you, and teaching you how to best sell yourself. They also claim to contact what they call decision makers: the people in any given company that have the direct need for a new employer but don't want to go through their own HR department. I met with their vice president twice and learned all there seems to know about them before he gave me a contract and a price.

So I signed up. For $3600.

Fortunately, I have more than enough to cover it stashed away in stocks, but it was still several minutes of hard thinking before I put ink to paper. One comfort is the fact that most other employment agencies get their payment from charging around 25% of your first paycheck, which could be twice what I paid depending on what kind of salary you get. Plus, he had some encouraging examples. Overall, I think I made a good call, but it's still a costly leap of faith. Oh, well. It's just money, anyway.

In other news, I have a friend who might be going into the Peace Corps! It's weird to think of being on the other side of the line. At least I'll be better equipped to sympathize with his situation should he decide to go thanks to my own experience in Senegal.

Ever feel like you lack showmanship in your life? Yeah...

Review -- Teen Titans, "Birthmark"

2005-02-06T20:43:00.000-05:00

For everyone who knows me, you must have seen it coming. Considering my infatuation with Teen Titans, was there any doubt I would use my shiny new blog to talk about them? Well, there might have been hope among some of you. I'm going to spare you the synopsis of the episode and move straight to my feelings about it, highlighting certain parts of the show where need be. I've read comments on forums about this ep, and they make me think. Just keep in mind that I'm a very forgiving critic. On to the show!

So far, season 4 is off to a brilliant start. Spoof-tacular hilarity in "Episode 257-494," all the Titans dressed as Robin in "The Quest," and now, "Birthmark," where the light starts to fade. This, the third episode shown so far in season 4, kicks off the main story arc centering around Raven. It also has the return of Slade. After seeing the preview for this episode, I knew what was going on. Slade, who had been killed in a pit of lava by Terra in season 2, had been resurrected into the service of Trigon. The show only hinted at it, but all the pieces fit. Controling hellfire is a pretty big hint, anyway.

Now that Slade is badder than ever, Ron Perlman has kicked it up a notch, too. Before, Slade was calculating, cool, and rutless. Now, he's twisted, and wonderfully creepy. I daresay his lines had a certain joy. When he described Raven's helplessness, I could feel him smiling behind that mask. That was part of why this episode was so heavy. Evil was having the time of its life.

We also discover, much to Raven's own surpise, that she can stop time for a whole city. Seeing as how this came out of nowhere, I have the suspicion that this newfound well of power will play a crucial role in her salvation. And yes, she will be saved, somehow. Considering that she's probably the most popular Titan, I don't see how they could greenlight a fifth season without Raven on the team. At least, that's what I dearly hope.

I wasn't sure what the writers were going to do in this episode regarding the other Titans, so it surprised me to find that they had elected Robin as the only friend at Raven's side after time had stopped. I'm sure many a RobRae 'shipper wore out their VCRs rewinding this episode, especially when Raven runs back to save Robin, crying out his name in worry. Putting all that aside, I think having Robin was a good call. After all, they have a lot in common. Both are serious people, both are secretive, and both have bird names. More importantly, as the only one among the Titans who tries to understand Raven, I think this makes him the closest she has to a confidante. And as her leader, the closest she has to a parent. Besides, I'm a BBRae 'shipper (though RobRae could work, if not for Starfire).

This episode was another landmark in that we see a church. Raven and Robin hide in it, but as Raven looks up at the stained glass, guilt floods her and she tells Robin about her birth. The image of a holy place bringing a kind of confession from Raven was not lost on me. My only qualm is that she doesn't explain as much as I had hoped. Considering that there will be four more story episodes, though, I can live with it.

This episode was by far the darkest I've seen Teen Titans get. Not Spawn dark, of course. It is a kids' show. But watching as Slade puts his head back in its place (replete with the sounds of snapping vertebrae) after a brutal attack by Robin tells you that this time, things are different. This time, we're not going to beat up the little kiddies. We're sicking a demon on a very unfortunate girl's soul.

The episode hardly ended on a hopeful note, either. Although the Titans tried to lighten the mood with a birthday party for Raven, she knew things were only beginning. Even more troubling was Slade's report to his master (we assume Trigon) that Raven "knows what she must do." I found it hard not to smile during this episode, but I felt guilty at the same time considering what was happening. This is going to be a wicked season, and I mean that in both ways.

10/10

Highlights:
-In the intro fight with Dr. Light- Raven: "If you're going to steal something, do it where we can't see you from our living room." (zoom to Titans Tower behind them)
-In the intro fight with Dr. Light- Raven: (facing Dr. Light as in Nevermore "Remember me?" Dr. Light: (to other Titans) "I'd like to go to jail now."
-Having a Beast-Boy pinata at Raven's surprise birthday party.
-Robin talking about the bond he has with Raven because of what happened in "Haunted."
-Slade calling Robin's threat precious.
-Cyborg swinging an enormous steel column at Slade only to have Slade stand still and still melt it in half with hellfire.
-After above attack: Cyborg: "Whoa." Slade: "Whoa? That's it? No clever comment? I was looking forward to that."
-Slade 'fixing himself' after Robin's attack.
-Raven slamming two buildings together to stop Slade.
-Raven's uniform ripping down to little more than a bikini and her hair growing long. (Did I mention I'm a Raven fan?) In the show's defense, it did give Raven the feel of someone being prepared for sacrifice.

Twilight Ho!

2005-02-05T13:05:00.000-05:00

So it begins.

Hello, my soon to be loyal readers. Whether by chance, choice, or pity, you have ventured into my blog. In all honesty, I'm not sure how this is gonna go. Most of my thoughts and feelings I tend to keep to myself. If this is not a place to vent, then what is it? Well, that is the adventure I hope you will join me in. I don't want this blog to be just about me, although you can fully expect to find me in an intellectual crusade now and again, assailing some random notion with words both sharp and broad. But this place, this haven, I have claimed so that things worth reading might be forged from rough thought. From course ideas shall flow eloquence. From the hulk of raw passion, beauty.

And in this goal I ask your help. I am only one mind. This place may be bound by Twilight, but it heeds no rigid form. Suggestions will be welcome. After all, I write in order to be read.

My stage is now open to the world. Let it speak.