These two tidbits were stuff that I wrote recently under the infulence. I've come to the conclusion that my writing is a tad self indugent. Perhaps I will be trying something new instead of venting my melodrama. In any case here are the fruits of booze.

PS: Christmas pictures are up! Thanks Mom and Dad for the camera!


Because I didn’t have the balls, I called… I called my past. I called those who refused to listen to me, I called the Antman who was forgotten even through I tried to convince him that it was true. I called those who told me I was full of shit but in fact were totally wrong. I called those to thought that life was fraught with rejections from me, and those who couldn’t see clarity was false. I called to those who told me they would be ok with their significants to fornicate with others. But honestly I don’t believe this. I am not of the similar opinion. The same testosterone flows through our veins. That makes us the way it is. I am too inebriated to relate that which goes on in my mind. Too bad that I am misunderstood. Perhaps the Turkish girl was correct. I am but an innocent hypocrite in the darkness. Damn me. I hope that Mister Tucker will come and bless this entity like I did once a long time ago. Darn. Too bad. Rawr! I miss you, and though it seems to be meaningless, never the less I persist in thinking that alcohol is a beautiful thing, Damn the masses, fornication, and sex… I am the man. Worship me… Damn u. Love Jesus and stuff. Boooyah… I have a following. I do. Respect me whilst I throw up. Damn u!

Me
Damn Hiccups!


a few days later



I watch porno and listen to Ella Fitzgerald and its cold outside. In this moment I recall a drunken rant which I made once a while ago. I can only concede that since the mistakes were not as rampant on this, which I write in this very moment, I must not needs be necessarily be quite as inebriated as I was in the previous expulsion of emotion which I did make, I still need to make heads and tails of it. In the meantime, I got my love to keep me warm… skip song. This is a fine romance. This day I must have rolled a one hundred on the dice. Random encounter hello! I bring to you the meeting of someone random whom you’ve never heard of. Roll another dice. Ahh! It is feminine and attractive. Let us roll one more dice to determine how it goes shall we? Perhaps she would be a follower of the Deceiver? The Confuser of Ways? Wait a minute did the dice say I was this geeky??? Damn! No wait I’m not! Shit.. never mind then. “TWO MAGIC!!! TWO MAGIC!!! TWO BLESSSED!!! ARGHHHH!!!” “ Tchack! I’m dead!” Booyah.

A fine romance my dead duchess. Two old….. gamers? No. I say either. My very good woman… Porno! I’m watching porno! Ahh yes… booyah… bring it on people… I guess I could end it here but I don’t think that will be enough… checkout my pics site for there will be some cool stuff up there soon… either ither... Timmah…

cracked at 296 hours

Ahh let us embrace the sensation of testicles filled tight like water balloons wanting nothing more than to quench the heat of a hot summer day. Let us bask in the glory of unfulfilled desires which leave one empty despite the overwhelming fullness of it all! Let us take the air in a breath of freshness which the lungs are unused to knowing. Let us drink deep, the clear clear waters from which no fermentation can occur. Abstinence from sin is good for the body! And yet… it’s never been more fragile. Irony is a fickle bitch who’s sense of humor’s akin to mine. Damn you for turning the joke on me!

And somewhere in the distance someone is getting laid tonight. ZING! And somewhere in the depths of my being I know comfort, for I have beaten the odds. I have conquered myself. I am the Master of my domain! But why do I continue to punish myself so? What evil do I seek to cleanse with fires of righteousness?

A test! A game of chess against myself. Free beer! Self confidence! Mmmmmm sushi….. Mastery of one’s self! Freedom from the hand! Yeah that’s it! It’s a matter of pride… yes pride! I hold my pride in my right hand! … No wait…. I won’t do that! Not yet! Not until…. until…. What was I just saying? Second only to nature! Ooooops…

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

249 hours down… 519 to go…..Must……. not……. crack…. Arrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mister Prufrock’s frequent visits
Behind the curtain of the screen
Lost among anonymous keystrokes
The Internet
The Internet is for …
The Internet is for …

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks

Grab you credit card and start yankin!
Discreet billing.
No adult mentions on your credit card statement.
Mister Prufrock’s name won’t appear.
Mister Prufrock’s peers will never know.
They shall say, “What the hell is Cyberweb?”
“Who the hell is Prufrock anyway?”
They will never notice.
They will never understand.
The bank will think it’s web space.
And the Admin doesn’t care.
Neither does the girl.
Just a name in an anonymous channel.
That’s what you want isn’t it?

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks.

“No!”
“Damn she looks good.”
- Tehcamgirlsux has been kicked from chat-
“Any time now.”
- Hey baby stick it in jur ass! -
“Any time now someone is going to realize the brilliance of this.”
- Tehcamgirlsux has been banned from channel -
“There must be someone in here who will notice.”
- Hey I’m a girl and I love what you do -
- Ohh baby that was great! -
- Do you like girls? -
- I’m giving you a ten! -
Perhaps the girl?”
- Hey where do you live? -
- Close up please -
- I wish that was me right there -
“Maybe I’m just a retard.”
- Ok guy’s show’s over -
- Thanx babe see u 2morrow -
“But I haven’t finished yet!”

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks

Beating the evening furiously
At one and two and three o’clock
With slippery hands
Coaxing out the last drop
Spitting frantically
Begging for release
And seeing it was a soft November night
Four o’clock in the morning
Sticky hands
Weary and alone
Curled into a fetal ball and fell asleep.

Withered fingers play melancholic melodies upon the keys of a synthetic surface, bringing forth emotions of stagnation and decay. The soul burns for retribution, demanding reparations for a life cleft in twain from an organic rot deep within a broken coccyx. Time hammers upon the anvil of destiny ceaselessly, irrevocably, and brutally despite those being molded from the fires of Hephaestus. It isn’t supposed to be fair. It matters not to the greater powers. We must need flee like ants evacuating a flooded tunnel, desperately seeking to rescue the seeds of its future. They will not know vengeance for the fall of their comrades. The child with the magnifying glass is too damn big!

I have seen my putrid flesh served upon a silver platter like tartar delicacy, cutlery laced with the blood of my rectum. I have inhaled the fumes as they purged the sickness from my flesh with the fires of man. It is an unpleasant smell. All the while I felt nothing.
Alas corruption cannot be destroyed so easily. It must make sense somewhere in the mysteries of the universe, for it happens. However, the reason of it all eludes me.

Powerlessness is a frustrating state, which when merely accepted can destroy the morale of man. A small part of me wants to fight the futility, like a duty to myself. Like a man plunging headlong to a lost battle, trying hard not to let reason deter him from his glorious end. A responsibility to his pride. To submit in the face of the flow of time, the universal healer of all things, is the surest path to self destruction. I will endure, even though I know I cannot win.

I don’t suppose, that I could impose upon you, good ladies, to cut me a tidbit of thread, weave the hole shut, and tie it off for me? You’d really be doing me a great favor.

Lying upon my mattress on the floor, my hairy chin propped up by two pillows, my hands extended in front of me, fingers dancing across the keyboard as if playing a complex tune with some foreign instrument. The net at my disposal, and the imaginations of a repressed individual having spent too much time upon the floor, for the seated position was inappropriate and uncomfortable. I feel my body degenerating in this enclave, several feet below the surface of the earth. From time to time I venture out into the bright sunlight of the world, only to return exhausted and nostalgic of the life I have left behind all those months ago, a life which I long to return to, one who’s reunion is certain and elusive. If my time down here in this prison like place has taught me anything it’s that I truly value more all the things which exist outside the fictitious realities of a computer screen and written word. I’ve learned my lesson Life. I know I’ve been negligent. I know I have to learn responsibility and purge the causal comforts associated with that which I take for granted. I must begin to regenerate and strengthen. I no longer wish to waste away upon the floor. My resurrection is at hand. It is time. Release me.

One of the first things I got into when I first plunged myself into the world of the internet was the IRC chat rooms. I must have been about 15 years old when I first entered one for the first time. It was one where people met to talk about Japanese cartoons. In time I made some friends and migrated over to one of the larger networks, EFNET. We spent hours every day talking about random shit. Then of course the older people all started traveling to meet each other, and eventually have sex. It caused a lot of drama. The most typical story would be one member or the other would be in an online relationship, travel to meet the person in question, screw like rabbits, and then the following morning whilst the partner was taking a shower, use their computer finding out, reading chat logs, that the individual was having cyber sex with about three of his/her friends in the channel. This would result in channel scandal, and members of the chat room would takes sides and eventually split off into two separate rooms, only to have the process repeat itself in some other parallel scenario. Being one of the youngest members, we just sat and watched all the drama. It was very educational.

In time, I got fed up with the constant repetition of it all. I considered on several occasions to go meet some people myself, but it never really worked out seeing as I was too young to travel alone to visit complete strangers. So I left.

Every couple of years since then, I stop and think about what happened to those people, and how the chat rooms would have evolved since those days. From time to time I act on my curiosity. I download a copy of MIRC and travel back to EFNET which is all but deserted these days. #cyberheaven, #17-25, #chathouse are completely empty save for #loonybin where the IRC bot Johnson still stands guard from an attack. Otherwise it remains lifeless with no sign on activity since the days we once hung out there.

Ella Fitzgerald

I lie of the floor trying to figure out exactly how I went from a three day long melancholy disposition to the beginnings of feeling better. Ive kept all of my wirtings up to now purely artistic, but that sort of thing isn’t satisfying enough for me to feel better sometimes when the mood hits me. I’ve kept from writing direct things about myself for fear of revealing certain aspects of myself which I am ashamed of. These are things which all human beings feel sometimes but I take it upon myself sometimes to conquer my emotions with logic and reason. I don’t like it sometimes when I get swept up by myself, and when I try and wirte about this it feels like I am reading the pathetic ramblings of an insecure teenager. I am in fact twnty five years of age and somewhat mature, at least I consider myself, for the amount of emotional experience I have felt. It is this constant expectations of myself to be able to conquer negativity through cold logic and indifference which makes it so hard sometimes. I’ve done things in the past which I am ashamed of. Rather I have dealt with certain situations in ways which, looking back made me feel childish. I suppose that when such childish emotions begin to take hold of me again I begin to hate myself for feeling a certain way, and as such nstead of trying to work my way thourhg it I’ve been repressing certain things from shame. This brings me down.

Being down is no crime. It hits everyone from time to time, and as such I feel no shame to tell people that im a little depressed. What is embarrassing to me is trying to admit to myself that the cause.

This is the third Halloween. About two and a half years ago I brokeup a relationship in which I had invested a great deal of emotional energy. The break came at a moment when I was already dealing with a great deal of stress. I was doing a boring internship at the Central bank of west Africa. The jobs sucked and I basically spent three months doing nothing. Not only that but I used to come home to an alcoholic mother with whom I used to have violent arguments. It was a very difficult time for me. My parents were threatening to separate, and I found myself ni a situation, far from home with no human backup. Then two weeks before going home I brokeup with this person, and later found out that our relationship had actually ended ni a blazing flame of lies and betrayals.

Thankfully despite the fact that were do share some of the same friends we hardly see eachother except when fair sized party comes around, and Halloween is a tradition which has not been passed up for several years. Every Halloween I dread seeing this person.

The first year she was there, but I was plastered drunk, and showing off a newly acquired skill as I spun chains with glowsticks attached to them, on the roof of the neighbor. It is a miracle I didn’t fall off the three stories.

The second year, the Halloween party took place at my house, and whilst she didn’t show up out of respect for my space, even though I did not implicitly invite her, I suffered from the same heartwreaching stress. That evening we lost and Xbox, an Ipaq, and a digital camera. It was a bad year.
Now the last few days I’ve been fearing the same thing. Ive been attributing the stress to a combination of my medical condition taking longer to heal than I would like, combined with random arguments with my father, but thinking back on it I think the stress was probably there to being with and these inconvenciences just aggravated the situation rather than being the actual cause which I was depseratly trying to put to it.

That being said I forced myself to go to this gathering even though a large part of me didn’t want to. I may have brought some people down in the process with my horrible mood, but I guess I knew deep down that this was something I had to do. Sure enough she was there and for the first time in two years I went up and said hello. I gave the two kisses and made about a minute or two of random small talk. I guess that was my way of saying… I don’t know what I was trying to say. Maybe just that it’s ok. I’ve finally let go of my hate. But if I did why was I so anxious? And why after the hour that I spent, when I decided it was time to leave, when I said goodbye to her again in the same way I had said hello. Why do I suddenly feel better? I know I’ve accomplished something important, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it will come to me in time. In the mean while it feels good to feel relaxed again. Until next year. I hope I’ll feel better next time round.

I know those to threw the party are going to read this. I’m sorry I had you guys worried for me. I know my reaons for being weird are childish.. But all selfishness aside the evening was a productive one for me.


I’m not going to reread this. I’m not going to edit it or spell check. I’d rather leave this is in its natural state.

Loosely coalesced droplets of water patter softly upon the surface of my cranium, gently massaging all the aches and pains within. A slight breeze cools the bitterness beneath the skin and calms it tenderly like a breath of fresh air re-instilling life into an asphyxiated personality. I do not attempt to fathom the objects which create the reality which I habitually interact with. No, my eyes are closed this evening, and I am all alone with the rain and cool airs. My lungs heave and release, just like the time before, and the time before that, but this time with recognition and symbolism that I had not noticed, or bothered to notice. I can feel liquid gently making its way in between the follicles of hair down my arms, down my chest, my back, my legs, my face. There is a great weight lifted, as if all the worries and troubles of the imperfect man are washed away from him. In a moment another great sigh as it pours off me into a pool at my feet. And in a moment, for just a moment, I can let go completely. It makes me think about how lightly I take my breath, my heartbeat, my shivers, the tiny itch in the bottom of my feet which is only a nuisance when I think about it, only for a few moments, and then it is gone again. It makes me think, how easily I lose sight of the undeniable truth. It is good to be alive right now, and forever. If God does exist I pray he never let me lose sight of this moment. Where everything in the world makes sense.

Inspire me o Lady of the Word! Allow me use of these thy gifts. Thy permission grant I plead. Homage to thee. Thou hast blessed the mortal man with pen, and paper, and keyboard. Thou hast given unto me sensitivity and life. Thou hast taught me love, and song, and desire. I plead unto thee madam inspiration to pay respects to thy divination. For with the words which thou hast granted me, I wish to make unto thee, a gift. And though these thoughts cannot unto thee do justice, I’ll do as best as I know how. And though I am incapable of depicting, exactly that which doth flow within me when feel the ecstasy, I’ll do as well as can be done with the very tools you instruct. And I pray thou dost accept my most profoundest admirations, for not a master of the art am I. But I do assure thee that all my being went out into it. And so I ask thee to guard that which I am about to give, a part of my soul. Cherish me, and I do give thee worship. So speak unto me o Muse! Fair maiden of dictation. Lay upon me use, thy everlasting inspiration,

Her name is Polyhymnia and She moves like grains upon the sands of perfection. Swaying in the wind like some gentle force of nature,
Upon some lost and lonely shore.
Undisturbed in silence,
Swimming softly to the beating heart of earth.
And as she passed to and fro,
All who behold her know
Peace.

She is the hope which Pandora did release.
She is the outlet,
The cure,
The means by which mortal man endures.
She brings respite to those who follow her,
The likes of which no mortal lover
Brings.
She is better than death.
She is release.
She is the most serene listener,
The soundest word,
The greatest love,
Desire,
Shoulder,
Friend,
Lover.

Her whispers have inspired passions in the most devout.
Her breath has robbed and bestowed the deepest romances,
The most bitter hatreds,
The most pure emotions.

Through her one can peer,
Deep within the darkest hearts,
And understand.
And with her one will jump,
And shout,
And laugh,
And dance,
And cry,
Without ever knowing why.

And yet ever elusive is she.
For not one to be caught is she.
Beyond the hopes and dreams of man,
Beyond imagination,
Beyond conceptualization,
Beyond that which man was made to grasp,
Beyond all we understand,
Beyond reality,
Beyond even me.
And yet,
I know her to exist,
In my mind her touch persists.
And I am scarred
Forevermore.

More elusive as is the questing beast,
Incapable of being caught,
For not even I can perceive her thought.
Though I may try,
With all my perfect imperfections.
I am blind unto her as a child staring hard unto the sun.
She exists not except within me.
And deep within my soul,
Close to my heart,
My mind,
Myself,
I’ll cherish her forevermore.

She is my light when there is darkness,
My darkness when there is too much light.
She is neither jealous nor demanding.
Granting only understanding,
And confusion.
I care not,
For what little glimpse I do perceive,
Doth suffice to drive nations unto madness.

I am her loyal servant,
And her lover,
And her brother.
She loves me in ways none other
Can.
For created her did I,
Just as she created me.
We are one and none.
We are bonded but apart,
But I exist and she does not.

I’ll spend the rest of my days seeking the most imperfect reflection in another’s eyes.

Occasionally I think back on my old school in Zimbabwe and how much I hate it. The school was called St. George’s College, and it was an all boys school run by Jesuits. The system of education was old school, corporal punishment, copying 100 lines from the bible by hand. Your incentive to be good was punishment, not at all like the progressive reward systems.

My first impression came even before I actually moved to Zimbabwe. My parents had been down to scope out the place, and they went to visit the school. They told my parents politely that my brother and I would be better off attending the international school. We were furious but insistent. Eventually my parents had to ask a friend of the family in the Vatican to write a letter on our behalf. We got in.

The school uniform consisted of a both khaki shit and shorts, with a red and white tie, a red floppy hat and blazer. It was absolutely ridiculous but I wore it with pride and humor my first days of school. I was well received by the students since I passed myself off as the badass American boy from DC. No one called my bluff, and I instantly acquired respect. The teachers treated me like I didn’t speak their language. One even went so far as to suggest that we write to the examination board when exam time would come and inform them that they were going to grade an American student as if I was disadvantaged. Since they school heavily favored the jocks, the administration gave me a lot of shit for not trying out for sports. I seriously hated it.

The turn of the tide came when the school took two months off and sent us all off to do community service. I was sent to an elementary school for mentally handicapped children. I admit that at first I was very reluctant seeing as I had already completed community service at my old high school in the States. We brought the parents to plead my case, but the school refused to waver. And so I found myself every day working on restoring old computers which the school used to teach their kids. The computers were old and crappy but I put each one back into decent shape quickly. I installed games, played with the children, it was fun. At the end of the session we were asked to raise money for our respective organizations. In a brilliant scheme I took advantage of a school play taking place and set about selling soft drinks and snacks. We made more than any other group in the history of St. George’s College. Around that time I started getting a little more positive notice from the teachers. Those who had forced me to go gloated, but I was happy I’d done a good thing and had a good time.

The next two years was one victory after another. In academics I pwned. I made a buddy with whom I started a lucrative underground operation involving internet downloads. I had access to technology and know-how that no one else in the place did. We made quite a killing further enhancing our reputations amongst the student body. I went out a lot, partied, started smoking, threw parties in probably the largest house anyone I’ve ever known has lived in. I was king of the world there.

Now at the time things were going well. My grades were kicking ass so they gave me some slack about sports. Turns out their all American jock was turning into the nerdy brainiac with a social life and a reputation. However I had this friend who was less liked by the administration. In short they sent a note to the boy’s parents saying that mine and another kid’s parents had officially complained to the school about the behavior of a certain student. Naturally my friend was booted right out of the school and his parents pissed off at me. The matter was sorted out between us eventually, but he never truly recovered from the blow. Sure he was a slacker. He didn’t excel at sports or do particularly well academically. Now St. George’s College is an excellent institution which produces excellent boys. So because they couldn’t train him they banned him. I’ve never forgiven them.

I got my vengeance shortly thereafter when some friends of mine snuck into the school at night and poured two liters of potassium permanganate into the swimming pool. We turned the pool dark purple. Guess who they blamed. Only a foreigner could have had the balls to pull something like this. However I was the kid who was going to bring them three A’s at A-level, and they had no proof whatsoever. The school tried intimidating the culprits with lies about how they knew who had done it and would offer mercy if they stepped forward. No one did, and I had been home when it had happened. Booyah.

My friend and I eventually grew distant and to tell you the truth I don’t like him much anymore for different reasons I wont go into now. But the fact of the matter is that the school wasn’t interested in giving education. They were interested in money and reputation. All the words of the priests and people, the school which sent us all out for two months for the good of mankind did it for repute. It seriously hit my view on Catholicism and the Jesuit Order. I’m not saying that such people are bad people. Many of them have good intentions and do good things so I’m not going to judge people based on their religious choices. However I remain to this day disgusted at St. George’s and the lies.

Since then Zimbabwe has gone to shit. I don’t know if the school remains open. I don’t know what befell of the people there. I do know that some of my more favorite professors did get out. I also know that the people who hated me for being a foreigner before proving myself, and lied about my friend, got into shit with the government, because that is the nature of dictatorships. I feel truly bad. No one deserves what they are getting, even if the system was misguided and oppressive to the students.

I have a fantasy that some day I’ll be able to back to the school as I remember it with no troubles and none of the political turmoil. I’ll go right up to “Spacemonkey” one of the most despised members of the school and ask for a tour telling him that I am considering making a hefty donation. I’ll offer fags to those old enough to smoke, and openly humiliate the man in front of his students all with a couple hundred US dollars in my hand waving them at his face. In the end I’ll tell him that it was myself and a couple of buddies who engineered the best school prank, the school had ever seen. The money will go to some student I deem worthwhile and I’ll send him off to University somewhere good.

My daydreamings can be so very childish sometimes.

Entering the hall of mirrors makes one reflect in many different patterns upon the iris. So many aspects of oneself are illustrated, that it is no wonder that the human mind is stretched to impossible limits in order to fathom it all. Perhaps one is not meant to understand all the distortions, images, allusions, allegories which encompass the human soul, reflected upon millions of looking glasses. However despite all the myriad of imperfections, modifications, and fat heads, one can be assured that there exists somewhere somehow a genuine article, which is the source of all these distorted representations. This metaphor is similar to the way people view you from an external perspective or better yet, the way you see yourself in the reflective eyes of those around you. It is difficult to peer directly into one’s own soul and more often than not it takes another imperfect mirror to illuminate what lies within the original… like a shadow shedding light on a dark corner. I believe that one of life’s eternal quests lies in finding those who’s reflections are clear enough to learn something about oneself. After all my own eyes, more often than not, reflect the most obscure images of me. As for the significance of the perfect mirror, I am not yet certain. In any case there is no such thing.

Some say that only in solitary reflection can one eventually find truth and enlightenment. I am of the opinion that such methods do not work in emotional matters of oneself. I am at the moment concerned with earthly carnal things which affect my life. I care not for the higher truths in the universe of things, simply because one can never be certain, of what will see when peering into a black hole. I prefer to redirect my attentions inward and ponder upon myself. Tis very egocentric it is, but as I perceive it, we are all the centers of our own universes.

And therefore since all the world’s a hall of mirrors and all the men and women merely looking glasses. I say wander and absorb. Discover yourself, and if you do, and do not like what you find, change it, rather than finding another more desirable reflection. You cannot run from the hall of mirrors for it surrounds us all. You either study it or ignore it. To run would lead one to exhaustion and despair

Late in the evenings before heading off to my rest is when I get most of my writing done, and where I spend most of my reflecting time. It is in these moments that my mind is free to wander about the random things in life, generally accompanied by my own personal soundtrack from my computer. Music is incredibly important to me. Right now I am listening to “Hit me Baby One More Time,” by Travis. It’s a great song. Makes me nostalgic a bit. My own piece of drama.

I think on the past, the present, the future. I think about loneliness and weather I really do feel alone despite the overwhelming amount of close friends I have. Despite the overwhelming amount of people who consider me close friends, neither jealous of those I also share myself with. I am supremely well surrounded, and yet there is little romance in my life at the moment. I might as well blame it on the ass, but I think that in large part I don’t want to be with someone for the sake of being with someone. My experience has shown that forcing leads to disastrous ends. Better to leave it to the magical science of chemistry. This is a topic I think very much on. I guess perhaps I just miss the attention. I don’t know.

I don’t know if I get very much accomplished during these sessions of self analysis. Most of that which I learn about myself is by analyzing my behavior, reactions in social situations as they are happening or based on other people’s observations. I learn most of life’s lessons by screwing up and then seeing someone make the same mistake. More often than not sense is only achieved when I begin to draw parallels.

I am very frustrated with my writings. I can’t seem to dialogue. I have been trying over the past several months to write out conversations between people. Any conversations, about anything. I am fully capable of relating descriptions, professions with my writings. I am a fair actor for one who has no experience. I can lie, like a champ, and make people see my side of things easily, but when it comes to exposing a point through dialogue I don’t know where to begin. It bugs me because eventually I’d like to write something meaningful. I have several ideas for potentially interesting plots, but I can’t seem to commit further than setting up the story.

I missed the Greenday concert because of my ass, which incidentally is more sore than usual. I have an uneasy feeling today that the doctor might have missed something with the last operation. I hope I am wrong. I can’t spend another 4 months of my life in a basement floor. I need to go out and do something now. I miss life so very much. I’m starting to hate my computer games. I am bored. I want to go back to the way things were before. I’ve been gimpy for 5 years over a stupid reason.

That’s it for now.

And over here ladies and gentlemen I would like to interest you in the birthing of a new day. The smell of moisture is still thick in the air, undisturbed only by the errant animal, delicate breeze, random insect, lost drunkard returning home from an evening of heavy emotional suicide. I urge you all to silence, and to bask in the sense of peacefulness, the austerity of the nature around you. Don’t mind the asphalt, the lack of flora. The city itself has its own unique energy did you know? Close your eyes. Can you feel the sensation of millions of people simultaneous resting in anticipation of yet another day in their lives? My excitement is overwhelming. Right now is the most special part of the day because no one bothers to live this moment except in blissful ignorant slumber.

Ahh see the birds have begun their worship of the soon to be rising sun. In just moments the animals will rise and begin preparation for the coming energy. See the squirrels ripping open green garbage bags on the street, seeking breakfast? In but a few short hours, men will come and clean up the mess. The smell of fresh coffee will begin to fill the streets, and warm bread, and morning smells. Observe, they come just at the first crack of dawn. And now a buzz as the first automobile fires up, speeding through the empty streets. Is it not unique to hear only one engine raring in the midst of virtual silence?

Let us walk to the river. See the dewdrops glistening on the grass as the sun rises eastward? If you sit, you’ll get a bit wet but who cares right? Soon the sun’s warm rays will dry whatever your manufactured clothing absorbs. It’s quite alright. Now breath. You can almost smell the water from here. They say you can’t swim in it, but it is nevertheless beautiful as the sun bares its first expressions on the reflective surface, blinding you with its glory. It is quite lovely the moment where she appears in her fullness, washing away the cold, and dampness in your jeans. It’s too overwhelming for the human eye to absorb completely so you have to hide and cover your eyes a bit. Any who try and behold the fullness of her beauty are struck blind, for mortal man was never meant to understand all of her secrets. That’s a good lad, now try not to drool so much.

Look here comes the very first wave of feet pressing to the resurrection of the city. The dreams are beginning to end and preparations must be met in order to satisfy the coming events. See the man exiting his abode to fetch the news of the world, the thoughtful mother allowing her pet dog respite from urinary abstinence, the children yawning, alarm clocks ringing, last minute lovemaking, showers, clothing, breakfasts, defecations, tooth brushings, well wishing, last minute homework, car starting, day beginning. Are we not fascinating the way we can fill the void with all our dreams, disappointments, promises, lies, anguishes, accomplishments, violence, and love? Truly the collective consciousnesses are in themselves another overwhelming form of beauty, like the sun, too difficult to stare at, but amazing to behold.

Now sit down and stretch out your souls. All the energies beginning. Can you feel it? Can you feel the life? Can you feel her breath? She is alive you know. And you are as much a part of her as she is of you. You may be a small player in the grand scheme of things but without you she is not who she is. And besides, all play an equally important role in her eyes. So cherish her, and never let her die. Accept her as she accepts you. Love her, for she is your home.

Witness watch
Behold, enjoy
View the thing which I perform
Feel the wet as I submerge
Sense the liquid penetrating
Everything

The wetness rises
Hold you breath
Pray for death
Immolation via water
Perforation of another
And soon
You breath

The substance seeps deep into the bowels of one’s being
Turning it to its own
Tainting
Dehydrating
If you shower too long your skin will pucker.
If you abide too long you’ll melt
And your eyes will stay that way forever

Absorb, bask, excatsize
The feeling filters everything
Throwing onto it an incontroversial bias
It brings nostalgia to all things

Be sure to eat lots of ice cream
Chocolate chip cookie dough
View old videos
Read letters of love long lost
Weep for the past upon dusty photographs
Take the air in a melodramatic tranceAnd drown yourself in it.

Nostalgia and regret are two of life’s most bitter opponents.

I have regrets.

I regret not having stayed friends with certain people, or rather allowing myself to become distant from certain elements of my past became I was ashamed. I miss certain feelings. I wonder what they are doing now. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I regret not having had certain foresight in some situations. Or rather not facing myself and the truths which I knew to be true but wasn’t ready to accept. I wish I had been more mature in some situations. It would have saved me, and many people who were in my entourage at the time, a certain amount of pain. I have made myself out to be an asshole in several situations due to my selfishness and my lack of foresight. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I regret women who offered to share themselves with me. Good people I liked, but was too intimidated to act on because I was naïve and frightened by what I might discover about myself. I wish I had been more brave and adventuresome. I wish I knew then what I now know. I wish I had had more tact in my refusals. I hurt people. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I regret not spending more time with my parents. I grew afraid when we began to drift apart and I have on some occasions been insensitive and judgmental. I have taken them for granted since they are always there and always be there. I assume too much. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I have put people who are close to me through useless immature drama and fits of naïve emotion. I have put mundane problems on the shoulders of people with issues far more important and real than my own. I have bored people, frustrated them, wasted their time, and been, by some, pushed away as a result. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I have become melodramatic again on occasion. I miss the past and fear the future. I have gimped my chances because I am too scared to act to save myself. I keep waiting for someone to dig me out of my pit. I am reluctant to do it myself. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

However, in spite of all this I am learning, growing, shifting changing. I grow stronger every day, slowly steadily. I give thanks for this. It means the world to me.

A passage from the exploits of Habib al Taib.

Habib enters the hall of the Formian queen and stares at the great alien presence before him. He feels that it somehow falls into a certain sphere of the natural order of things. He does however concede that whilst his knowledge of nature is normally undisputed, the Seerdomain and Akaron in general do indeed present an interesting variation of the natural laws. He realizes that in this place he must maintain an open mind.

The creatures before him are neither ant nor human. They resemble both and neither, and this fact ensues a conflict within himself concerning weather or not the Formian race represent an abomination in the eyes of the natural order. He ponders not too heavily upon this matter, and deliberately turns a blind eye. The creatures have offered aid, and against their devil opponent, clearly an evil, unnatural creature who would destroy existence as he knows it, all aid must be accepted and graciously exploited.

His companions begin to question the Queen about the metal beasts, denizens of the Devil Shadowthrone. A consensus has been reached that the best way to weaken the enemy defenses would be to attack its allies. The metal beasts are an abomination and a threat to the mission. They must be eliminated.

The Formian queen is unable to provide much information that is not already known. The metal beasts eat anything metallic with delight, and have a weakness against organic means of destruction. Habib realizes that the fight will most likely center around himself and his pet Jackal. With this in mind he begins his meditations entreating the forces of nature to grant him specific magics to best exploit the enemy weakness. He plans to employ the use of a great wave of slime capable of eating through metal, as his primary means of attack. He is confident, for there are few who would be capable of countering this tactic, as a means of offense.

As a final warning, the Queen informs the group about Zalatium, Shadowthrone’s second. Zalatium, she explains is a fallen angel, a Trumpet Archon who despite his fall from grace, is still capable of employing his angelic abilities, along with new Devil powers. He is a force to be reckoned with, and as such, the party should prepare to deal with him should they assault Shadowthrone’s fortress.

The companions leave as the queen grows irritated at their noncessant interrogation. It matters not for they have obtained most of the necessary information for completion of their quest, and to remain longer would only invite unnecessary repetition.

Habib lands on soft eagle feet having scouted the area and finding it deserted. He consults the forces of nature, entreating them for answers, but none are forthcoming. This is strange to him, however he quickly remembers that in the Seerdomain, nature might very well answer to its owner only. He motions the party forward, weapons drawn and ready for anything. His anticipation is heightened when he spots very fresh tracks metal beast, and if not for the quasi-godlike eyes of Valenkel, he almost flies straight into an Orc hiding in the brush, accompanied by two tigers.

Remembering that things are different in Akaron, Habib speaks to the Orc in his own tongue entreating a discussion away from the potentially dangerous proximity of the metal beast lair. The Orc agrees, and the party follows him to a nearby hidden tunnel.

The Orc is called Munroot. Munroot is covered from head to toe in a bone armor with weapons made of similar material. Not an ounce of metal exists on his person for the metal beast smell the substance and revel in consuming it orally. He is sworn to avenge his brother, fallen victim to the head metal beast. Munroot assures the group that the power of the creature is such that a “sacrifice” must keep the beast at bay whilst he prepares a magic arrow to slay it instantly. Munroot explains his intentions to sacrifice his pet tigers, companions of his own fallen brother, whilst he prepares the spell. He spots Kay decked out with metal weapons, and understands him to be the group’s “sacrifice” against the beast. Kay concedes with a smile and irony, already confident of his own immortality. Meanwhile Habib attempts to befriend the tigers who, much to his surprise reply back in common tongue. Habib understands that Munroot’s brother was a Shaman, and had awakened tiger companions. In order to strengthen Munroot’s trust in him, Habib proclaims himself a powerful shaman. Munroot is pleased to have found a “friend of nature”.

A consensus is reached, and an alliance formed. They will work together. Habib finds working with an Orc repulsive at first, but retains an open mind. Akaron is a strange place indeed.

The companions creep carefully towards the lair. Early on they are jumped by the metal beasts who are quickly dispatched. Whilst the fight is short, it causes a ruckus. Munroot is quick enough to employ some form of magic to stifle the noise. The creeping resumes.

The lair of the metals beasts is, like the creatures, entirely constructed of metallic substance. Its walls are riddled with lookout spots where some of the monsters await to jump lesser creatures for food. The first of these sentinels is dispatched without incident. The second one proves more problematic as Habib foolishly orders his earth elemental to pound at the walls seeking to pulverize the beast lying in wait behind an illusionary. The noise sends a powerful resonance down into the pit of the cavern and warning is heard. The beasts are aware of their presence.

Habib recognizes orders being shouted. He is capable of understanding the language of the beasts and is able to warn the party of a pending attack. The beasts howl a metallic screech which resonates in the cavern as if its very walls had been engineered to amplify the sound. Its effects are excruciating but Valenkel throws a silence stone to nullify the noise. Battle is engaged.

The fight is brutal, for the metal beast leader is huge and intimidating. He is also unexpectedly agile as he dodges Habib’s slime wave. However knowing his role, Kay assumes an incredible display of taunts at the beast. Kay is a seasoned warrior and a cocky one. He understands that he must keep the beast distracted long enough for Munroot to prepare his arrow. He approaches battle weaponless, armed with a sturdy coral shield for defense. His taunts infuriate the sentient Metal Leader into a frenzy of powerful attacks absorbed by Kay’s body, reinforced by Estand’s magics. Whilst the Tigers are quickly destroyed by the lesser metal beasts, the rest of the party is capable of engaging them competently. Munroot smiles and proclaims the end. In, but a few moments the beast will be destroyed when a lesser creature slips by his attackers, disrupting Munroots’s concentration. Munroot goes pale with fear, but the warrior within him retains control. He raises his bow and begins again, awed by Kay’s resistance against the Leader’s furious attack.

Kay is brilliant, and it is only the sternest duty which prevents Habib from collapsing into a heap of feathers in tears of laughter at Kay’s taunts. “Ohh is that all bitch? Are there any females of your race? Cause you hit like a girl! Common! I’m just a measly human with no weapon? Is that it? I can dance all day bitch!” So insulting are the taunts that this monologue will not do it justice, and the beast doesn’t even realize as Munroot’s soul seems to flow into his arrow, piercing his powerful metal body.

The Metal Leader exploders into a myriad of shards. A creature rises from the remains bearing two marks of blue and red which Habib recognize as marks of ownership. He suspects that one must belong to Shadowthrone, for he himself bears a similar red symbol from a different devil lord. The second one, he believe belongs to Zalatium. The creature is weakened but not defeated, and it is by chance that Habib understands the metallic orders which eschew from the beast. “Summon him,” he urges, and smaller creatures run quickly to the back of the room.

“Kill them!” Habib screeches with a bird like screech, unleashing another slime wave. The party recognizes the threat for the slime is of Habib’s most potent curses. They fly. Alas one beast succeeds in reaching its destination, opening a portal. A few moments later a trumpet appears at its mouth. Habib orders a summoned earth elemental to block the sound with Valenkel’s stone of silencing, for the Archon’s trumpet can destroy mortals with its pure notes. The plan functions temporarily, but the Archon is wise and powerful. He projects a manifestation of himself and blows.

The sound is not unpleasant, crystal, clear, beautiful, but somehow tainted. Whilst the companions are unaffected the metal leader explodes once again, this time into a mess of gore and guts all over the back wall.

And then….

Along the river of neglect,
Lying futiley in peaceful ignorance,
Whispering reactions of freedom,
Finally dig into shadow,
Of blissful misfortune.
Every dooryard which appears,
Begins the fear,
Of loathing crosses,
And we fall.

We are the dense men!
We are the heavy men!
Headpiece filled with lead!
Alas!

Reminder of that which was,
Remind me of times one could cope
And joke
Of fleeting things,
Remembering,
Nothing of that at hand.
Understand,
It is nature made this way,
And pray,
I sink not deeper,
Into cement.
Lament,
My loss.
Praise,
My success.

Faced with that which I most feared,
Makes me wonder growing beard,
Would help.
I shall shave my head again,
I shall change myself again,
I shall, I shall.
It is impossible to express myself!
But as if a man stood on another,
I’ll take another,
And steal his work.

Look into a mirror mirror.
Close your eyes.
And face yourself.

Mister Alexander was a gentleman like none other. His manner was smooth, his words appealing, his dress cordial, and he moved with a certain finesse and grace, a certain je ne sais quoi. However the gentleman in question was a mystery to the good folk of Bodington, and when his untimely demise arrived, most people couldn’t help but wonder where or what or how this somewhat special, yet unobtrusive man had met with such an unfortunate accident. Naturally the local authorities were suspicious that one so well known by the people in the small town, were able to provide such little information about him. He was after all relatively sociable, amiable, approachable. However not one person knew anything about his past nor had had the curiosity to enquire as to how such a remarkable fellow such as himself, would have come to settle in the quaint little village of Bodington, nestled in the Many Mountains.

Upon further investigation it became apparent that Mister Alexander had left no will, no instructions, no testament as how his fortune was to be distributed, and indeed it was a remarkable weight of coin which the Prefecture acquired from Mister Alexander’s modest estate. Eventually the coin disappeared, probably eaten up by the establishment itself. The Man profited from Mister Alexander’s demise, but no could conceive of any possible motive nor method. And yet one cannot help but think at how unlikely an event it would be for a ten ton boulder to randomly fall seemingly out of an un-rocky mountain, onto a moving vehicle at precisely the same moments, once again proving that two objects cannot coexist in the same place at the same time. By the time the bureaucracy finally reached the crash site, the destructive force of fire had already taken most of what was once a polite, elegant young gentleman with no past or identity.

His estate was seized, and almost immediately auctioned off along with his belongings, for the investigation led no where at all, and since Mister Alexander kept his abode in tip top shape, no renovations were made. Mister Alexander’s belongings sold well. The people of Bodington acquire quality coats, canes, weed pipes, ornaments, objects pertaining from cultures not known to them. A wandering tinker gypsy troupe which came by every year identified most of the objects as hailing from a country far across the Great Sea. Most of the villagers scoffed at this idea.

The Gypsies were sneaky buggers not to be trusted, since things did have a manner of disappearing when they were around, however they did bring to the villagers wonders not seen in any nearby land. And since they had to date not been implicated, the lull of some of their extraordinary wares and shows was far greater than the fear of theft. It was however agreed that the Gypsies could not be trusted, and that the Great Sea went on forever and ever so that a sailor could be birthed upon his craft and his offspring, and his offspring, and his, and his, and his, perish from ripe old age before the craft would rot, and its cargo drown. They knew this because Patrick the Potent had indeed dared the adventure and returned twenty years later with no news. What was affirmed was that the winds made the return trip far quicker that the going, for Patrick had sailed nineteen years and eight months before perishing from a broken piece of mast to the noggin, which resulted in his crew turning back. His men were surprised to discover, four months and a day later that Gaia was once again in sight. Since everyone knows that sailors are incapable of deception and masters of their craft, no one sought to question the validity of their claims.

But alas, it seems to be that I have entirely digressed from the matter at hand, and gone off into the telling of another tale.

Mister Alexander’s sparse remains were cremated shortly after forensics determined that the boulder had landed directly on top of the late gentleman killing him instantly and sparking up a fuel in his petroleum tank. His ashes were scattered on the four winds, so that his soul could wander in any direction it pleased before ascending to the beyond, and just as soon he was forgotten.

Years passed, Seasons turned. And by the time a Mister Alexander settled in a quaint little estate on the edge of Bodington, none could recall a similar scenario occurring but a few short fifty years earlier. Mister Alexander was tall, and charming. Eloquent, and chivalrous. He gave off the feeling of total decency and civilization. His manner was smooth, his hat, elegant. And since it is not considered polite to question a gentleman too closely this Mister Alexander also didn’t leave behind any information concerning his past, when a boulder collided precisely with his transport as he was making his way to town. Mister Alexander’s belongings were auctioned, along with his estate. His fortune, having not been bequeathed to any next of kin, seized by the local authorities, and just as quickly as he perished. The memory of Mister Alexander vanished like smoke on a cold winter day.

Now the minds of man are imperfect, and memory a fleeting thing. However it was perhaps around the twentieth, fiftieth, or maybe millionth Mister Alexander that the good people of Bodington found themselves with more hats, and canes, and relics from “Across the Great Sea” as the Gypsies so aptly put it, and began to wonder how it was, that hamlet had managed to amassed such an unprecedented rate of growth compared to neighboring cities. Indeed it appeared that the local coffers were limitless in providing funding for some local project or another, that by the time they began to question, the phenomena, Bodington had grown to a sizeable metropolis complete with any sort of local public good man could conceive. Why they even had machines scouting for all but the slightest blemish on the shiny town, eradicating the offending spot in mere minutes. Neighboring communities grew fearful and jealous at Bodington’s success. And it was only shortly after Bodington’s declaration as an independent state, that old Farley stands up one evening and says, “Hey anyone remember what happened to that ol’ Mister Alexander feller?”

One of life’s greatest revelations came to me when I took a course on Spanish Romantic literature at McGill University. I had walked out of a bad breakup about a year or two prior and was still feeling sorry for myself at the time. I must have been about 20-21 years old. Yeah late bloomer. Anywho I minored in Hispanic Literature and Culture in order to keep up my recently acquired mastery of the Spanish language, which has severely deteriorated over the years, but that is another story for another time. A digression if you will.

The course was excellent. It was taught by a Catalan gentleman, who I thought had lots of class. He clearly liked and was liked by the ladies. We were perhaps 20 females and 3 males taking the course, so you know I felt pretty good every time I walked in.

We began reading story after story concerning men, and women who had fallen hopelessly in love with each other, but denied its reward. Either it was a priest and a woman, a commoner and a lady, or a playboy and some innocent, etc… Either way it was always soppy, tragic, and invariably ended with someone dying of tuberculosis, the death of a broken heart. Unique suffering, sensitivity, understanding, supernatural love, all these were recurring themes. The people in the stories were weak and pathetic. And then it dawned upon me that I was exactly the same.

My conclusion at the time lead me to the realization that extreme romantics become so obsessed with their unique sensitivity and lack of understanding from their peers, that it dominates their lives and ego. One can build self esteem exclusively based on their unique ability to feel, and when you are a romantic, the emphasis tends to be on suffering.

“I am misunderstood by humanity! The world is full of insensitive barbarians with no emotions comparable to mine! Look how great my sensitivity is! Look how evolved I am to be able to feel such powerful emotions! But somewhere, out there, there exists a kindred spirit who longs for the same things. Who feels and suffers as I do. And when we meet, we can turn our backs against those who are too blind to understand us. And we shall live our lives happily ever after, content in each other’s loving company!”

When your self esteem is built entirely on this sort of thing, you tend to feed off your depression, and get even more depressed. I realized at the time that I was basking in the glory of having been cheated on. For two years I appealed to the pity of others, which of course I didn’t get since being cheated on is no big deal these days, and the more people laughed at me, the more it strengthened my resolve. A very destructive loop indeed. I suffer therefore I am great, therefore I suffer.

I’ve spent years trying to take a more practical approach to life. I tried the opposite extreme of complete emotional mastery and apathy, but that also has strong negative repercussions such as being a dick to everyone around you. Bad idea guys. So now I’m somewhere in the middle. I have my sensitive side, but I don’t let it destroy my life. I’ll pout and complain maybe a little bit more than most people, but not nearly as much as before thank God.

I have since then, been dumped and dumped a couple people. In the immediate aftermath I always tended to feel sorry for myself, but I accept that as human nature. Understanding from another is a rare and difficult thing to achieve, and just as some relationships were meant to work, we also observe that most of those same relationships are meant to fail. I don’t know if true love exists, however I have ascertained with certainty that ‘chemistry’ does. And even if it is doomed to fail, the good times are always worth it. True happiness in life lies in experiences. If you bitch and complain all the time, you will never find a moment to enjoy life.

I believe that in this respect I have achieved balance. Booyah.

It begins in the diaphragm. Like a pit, so vast that vertigo is felt when one ponders upon its nature. The sensation is kept in check only by practiced reason and sanity. A twisting feeling. A sense of urgency. There are barriers there. Walls that hold back an anguishing energy of complete despair and loss of control. At some times the barrier is weaker than at others. Sometimes a crack or two allows genuine fear to seep through, and the faster you try to plug the leak the more furious the boding sensation of pending doom grows. It dominates the entire body when it does. Breathing, motor skills, the head, the heart, the strength. You want to run, but you can’t. How do you hide from yourself? How do you conquer that which your mind plays against you? How can you win? What can you do but escape? Sleep! Yes, my dreams will liberate me yes it will, and I can run away into some corner where they won’t catch me! Yeah right. Ever heard of nightmares? Ohh shit! Ok, so I just have get my mind off it. If I can think of something else it will go away! But I can’t concentrate. I’m afraid. I feel like I’m dying! I don’t wanna cease to exist! I want to be like before! Take me back to before! Build the wall! Protect me! It’s horrible! Help me!

Drugs don’t help. Alcohol doesn’t either. Exercise? But I feel so weak! I can’t do it! I can’t handle it. I can’t deal. Everything is so depressing!

And then, just when it hits you hardest, you drown.

And then a hiccup, and then a sigh, and then a wail so profound. The flood. The remnants of the barrier gush unto the floor, unto your wiping hand. A handkerchief. A mess. And slowly but surely the barrier reasserts itself as you surrender to the emotion, stop fighting it. Accept it. Let it wash over you, like a storm.

And then when tears dry, and half the world’s Kleenex lies as your feet in an organic lump, pain subsides. Dreamless sleep. Suspension of consciousness. Disexistence.

Lingering songs leave bitter sensations in the bowels of my intestines. The master strikes again, and another note eschews from the sphincter of woe. It floats for a time, congeals, and leaves behind the remnants of an eternally beautiful thing. Frightened it gazes upon the faces of those who choose to stare intently upon it, and dies. Softly the moans roar into the night, and life which was almost gone arises once again. I too am guilty of such things, but I have not the knack, nor the ability to take it quite as far. Perhaps the realizations which strike the midnight herring will someday illuminate the wickedness of bastards. And fleeting fireflies squeal with delight.

Allow me to apologize for the ravings of the lunatic which slips into the night like a cabbage upon a windowpane. Permit me indulgence at the masturbations of manhood on the crevices of rocks. Forgive my trespasses, as I learn to forgive those who trespass against me. If I have in any way offended thy senses know that it was not my intent. We all want to be noticed by someone who doesn’t notice. We all want someone to pick us up and change things for the better. We all want what we don’t have, and not want that which fall into our possession. Man's greatest friend and most wicked enemy is his desire, his envy, his insatiable lust for that which is beyond his grasp. It will make us masters and break us.

Release thy desires! Let go thy longings! True happiness lies in complacent vegetablism. I want to be un-wanting. I want to be apathetic! I want! I want! Shut up already! The Buddhists were fools! They are just as longing as everyone else. Accept your humanity. Embrace it. Learn it. Control it. Be selfishly unselfish. Make morals! Accomplish stuff! Be happy! There is joy! Stop complaining! Leave me the hell alone! Love me damn you!
It's way past my bedtime.

It seems to me, my lady that the remedy to thy most foul disposition lies simply in an analysis of thine own necessities and desires. Based on what data I have gathered concerning the matter, I do believe that I have been able to deduce a pattern to thy methods. It occurs to me, madam, that the comforts whist thou art taken with, hath repeatedly concerned men possessed of similar qualities. It is in these common attributes wherein resides the flesh of my deductions.

Firstly and fore mostly, it does occur to me that the consorts which thou hast indulged with, are all men whom at first glace did seem not to notice thyself nor thine existence. Secondly I do perceive that these individuals did also not give in right away for some reason or another pertaining to past liaisons with other human beings, or present ones going on. Weather thou didst know of these facts is irrelevant, for thine actions have been similar in both senses. From these common qualities I do perceive that thou art thyself a slave to the game so to speak. One who appreciates the intricacies of the match more so than its rewards. Such has thy obsession grown, that thou art incapable of appreciating a relationship easily obtained. My lady, thou art a slave to the challenge, and so long as thy goal is beyond thee, though art disposed to long for it all the more. However I do presume that whence the game is done and won, indifference and disinterest shall overcome thee as thou longest for a new challenge. In truth thou hast not yet been subjugated to such a situation, as thou dost choose thy targets in such a way that thou hast not yet achieved a completely successful campaign. I do attribute, madam, the greatest source of thy discomfort to be thine own romantic desire to achieve the unachievable, to conquer the unconquerable. The truth madam, is that such quarry will lead thee unto a never ending quest, and insatiable satisfaction. I do urge thee to consider this strongly as a potential threat to thy further stability. Further analysis also discerns that thou art sensitive to the rejections of peoples. Thy perpetual fervour at chasing the ever so elusive Galtisant hath made thee victim of thine own self worth. Madam, due to the enormity of thy quarry, thy repeated failures have caused thee to be flung into the rapids of a deteriorating self worth. Thou knowest all too well that thou posseseth beauty and intelligence well beyond that which normal members of the fair sex have been attributed with, however thy perpetual dissatisfaction causes thee to question thyself relentlessly. Because thou hast been incapable of discerning the cause for thine inability to achieve stability, thou art looking for some fault, some imaginary endowment which thy consorts perceive, but thou canst not. Thou dost starve thyself, analyze thy personality, rebel, spend much time in preparation prior to unimportant events, and thy efforts go to naught. This in turn begins a spiral of self oppression. My lady, lack of nourishment, and perpetually dissatisfaction will lead thee to ruin.

However madam tis also shown by repetition, that thou hast yet to heed my warnings. Most of the substance, contained in my report, is known to thee from conversations and prior consultations. However thou dost refuse to desist from thy path. I am therefore of the opinion that thou art not yet ready. Thou knowest the wisdom of mine words in mind, but thy heart hath not yet let go of that fleeting hope that perhaps someday thou whislt conquer Narcissus himself. Until thou truly realizeth this truth, I must reluctantly advise thee to indulge in whatever passions thou dost perceive. It is my belief and ardent hope that thou whislt eventually come to see the truth in mine words, whence thou dost enter into thy situations armed with that which I have imparted unto thee. Maybe someday thou whislt comprehend that which I have implored thee to realize.

We all want to be noticed by someone who doesn’t notice. Life's a bitch, but love is not a one way street.

The Annals of Habib Al’Taib

Damn the Formian! It appears that that lump of whatever it was that the Queen fed me has left my stomach in shambles. I haven’t felt this way since the time Jagdish tricked me into drinking camel urine, telling me it was a spirit quest potion. I never repeated the mistake again; plus I’m supposed to be immune to poisons!

Our meeting with the ant Queen revealed that the metal beasts are among of the primary defense forces of Shadowthrone’s fortress. The Queen also happens to know the location of the nest from which these minions come. It might be to our advantage if we crippled that location first, seeing as we have managed to acquire some spare time. Alternatively we could also try and nail him now, given that we have but one short week left.

We retired to our quarters for further discussion, when my stomach began to flip-flop. I have just come down with a horrible liquid experience. My insides are melting into a greenish substance who’s smell is almost as excruciating as the searing fire which has exploded in my gut. Thank the gods that we purchased that extra-dimensional crapper at the beginning of the adventure. At least I can travel with my companions wherever they decide to go since right now… … … aw shit… … I am in no condition to contribute anything positive to the decision making process… … I think I’ll try writing when I get better… … Aww crap.

I remember when I was a child the very day I decided that I wanted to become a sorcerer when I grew up. You ever seen Fantasia? It was a long time ago. Far back enough that I do not remember when I saw it, but it remains to this day one of my earliest memories and notions of existence. Two things remain clear to me as I watched the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Firstly that the sorcerer’s magic hat looked wicked cool (I might have used different words at the time since I don’t think I knew that many back then). Secondly, I wanted to be a manipulator of magic when I grew up.

One of the saddest days in my life happened when I was in the third grade, and I came home one day crying to my parents about how everyone at school was saying that Santa Claus didn’t exist. It took my parents a few days to work up the courage to tell me that it was my father who dressed up every year. In that moment I understood that the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, and magic didn’t exist. I knew I would never be a sorcerer. I was crushed. A small part of me still wants to believe.

Armed with existential philosophy and ridiculous arguments one can justify the existence of magic and some unknown unseen force blah blah blah. Many of my friends claim to be adepts in the art. It’s just not the same. I re-watched the Sorcerer’s Apprentice a few years ago in Fantasia 2000. It was so much fun. Made me feel like a child again, and I walked out feeling warm and safe, and secure that the world wasn’t all that bad. I was also high, but I don’t think that influenced the feeling much.

From the Annals of Habib Al Taib

Entry IV

We managed to overcome incredible fatigue, pushing our bodies to the limits of their endurance both physically and with the aid of magics. Thankfully it bought us the precious time we needed in order to save the Formian Miramar. We arrived just in the knick of time as the Sladdi were mounting their final assault. Our intelligence was correct in that the Sladdi were indeed masquerading as humans. So effective was their deception that I myself was almost fooled as the commander issued orders to his men to, “kill the Sladdi,” when he spotted our approach. Fortunately my companions were not fooled, although in my defense many of their number did indeed retain a human form after having been dealt death. I suspect that these peoples were unknowing pawns in an elaborate game conjured by the Sladdi. However since we did not have time to determine potentially confused persons from bloodthirsty assassins, we chose the easier path of general eradication. I must state that even despite this seemingly easier course of action, we barely made it out with our lives, and it was in the arms of my friends, the greater air elementals that we managed to acquire our target and escape, leaving his brethren behind. In an unusual display of charity, Miss Amber Sessions covered our escape with her life. I did not manage to summon another ally in time to rescue her from her predicament, but her sacrifice did indeed buy us the precious seconds we needed to make our escape. Justina also left her life behind, but not without having given our enemies a taste of steel and strings.

We returned to the Formian hive without incident, our charge having shown us a shortcut to the lair of her queen. We were indeed much thanked, and rewarded with the knowledge that Shadownthrone’s ritual was doomed to fail if one wielding another rod piece claimed the Seerdomain as his home. Shadowthrone's ritual will fail, and as such it will take him yet another week to complete a new one. The queen was good enough to provide us with magical transportation to and back from the Temple of the Old Man, whereupon we resurrected our fallen companions.

And so it was after a quick ritual of devouring something which tasted much like ant feces, that we became native to the Seerdomain. The queen had warned us of potential side effects causing us to perhaps take on some Formian traits. Hoping to acquire one of these powers I did not fight the nausea which overcame me as I ate. The result is that I became sick and unchanged. Kay and Justina were the only ones to acquire traits. It appears that Kay is immune to poison, small price to pay for the mandibles at his jaw. Justina’s eyes took on a completely black coloration. It doesn’t affect her eyesight however, her wounds heal almost instantly. Larger wounds do take longer for sure, but minor knicks and cuts disappear in a matter of seconds. It also appears that they have developed a lesser telepathic link with each other permitting them to warn one another from danger should they be close by. The next assassin who tries and rip them up from behind will be met with a nasty surprise indeed.

I took the opportunity to attempt a link with my familiar Duke Devil, but it appears that the connection doesn’t work across planes. This is something worth remembering for my escape from the bowels of hell.

We have just been called to an audience with the Queen again. It appears she has new intelligence to share with us. I shall return shortly to relate the details of our next expedition.

I am feeling a bit melodramatic these days. I know the causes. The only solutions seem to be time and mastery of my emotions. I will prevail. I have no other choice but to. Like it or not these things will pass, perhaps to be replaced by something else which will also pass. That is the way of things. Life… is a beautiful thing even in its twisted intricacies which so do make us melodramatic. And besides, I have not yet known real anguish. I pray that I never will. I am spoiled. Even in my wallowing I am grateful. Man I hate myself when I am like this. Drama bad. Bad Admiral!

Last weekend I managed to detach myself from the computer screen and spend some time outdoors. I don’t know what drove me except for perhaps a sense of feeling sorry for myself after the multitude of time spent playing KOTR2. But I digress. (I liked it by the way).

The primary motivator for this short journey outside of my apartment is my good friend Nissou, who I’d much rather call Miss Chokesondick, but for fear of offending her, and other people, I chose the former nickname.

Our destination was the Jean Talon marketplace, a bustling collection of tents and stores, out in the open, just like in many European countries. The food is delicious, fresh and cheap due to the vast amount of competition which goes on in this compressed space. There are Lebanese, Quebecers, Latin Americans, Haitians, French, Asians, a true melting pot of cultural diversification and energy. It reminds me much of the market places in France in which I used to spend hours exploring with my grandparents whenever I would go visit. They don’t make em like this anymore, and I fear that such gatherings are becoming more and more scarce due to economic development. Whilst I could argue for hours about weather it is efficient or not to have such market places, and I don’t think its profitable for the seller to setup a stand given the multitude of identical kiosks, there is a cultural consideration in the old school sense.

Nissou and I walked among the energy of the people, the fish seller yelling his prices to the people, attempting to attract attention, samples of fresh fruits and vegetables laid our to entice the potential customer. She purchased some vegetables and fruits, I bought some BBQ sausages which were exquisite. We finally ended up in a Butcher shop where she purchased some Saucisses de Toulouse, whilst I acquired two sexy Saucissons d’Auvergne. I think I burnt a hole in my stomach shortly after arriving home and consuming one of them in a matter of hours with my Opinel knife.

Nissou is from France, and I know she dosen’t feel completely at home in Montreal sometimes. That day a certain peace and optimism radiated from her. I think some of it rubbed off on me.

Culturally I am more American than French. Actually I am neither given my peculiar upbringing, however this trip made me realize that there is a significant part of me which identifies with the French side. I find this odd because I generally don’t get along too well with the French, and hence tend to be rather detached from that part of me. Except for the Mediterranean gastronomy. I am accused, and rightfully so, of picking and choosing my background and culture to whatever situation I choose. Multiculturalism is fantastic.

When I first came to Montreal I was put into a Frosh group at McGill University. Most of these people were just temporary friends, and I never did bond with any of them at any particular level. I do, however, recall some drunk woman hitting on me during the first five minutes of meeting, and then not speaking to me for the duration of the two weeks. I never figured out why. Never mind I am digressing.

I met a man named Eddie. I chose to name him by his real name since Eddie is a common enough name to be attributed to any random person in my world, but his name is unimportant now. In fact I could be wrong and maybe it wasn’t Eddie who showed me this. Anyways the point is that McGill sent us to an Expos baseball game back before they left Montreal, and as method of transportation, we chose the metro, it being convenient and quick. Most metros in Montreal arrive from the left side of the track. If you stand about a foot or so from the edge on the left side whilst the metro comes, you get whipped violently by the rush of air as it zips past you. The rush is an incredible feeling. I know it’s stupid, but I love standing close to the edge and doing it. I am no thrill seeker. I am afraid of heights and violent speeds. But it brings me joy

People commit suicide by throwing themselves in front of a whooshing metro. I wonder if anyone has wanted to jump but been deterred by the thrill I get from this rush. I sometimes think I can see through the eyes of a desperate soul, witnessing the last moments before a life is snuffed out by itself. I don’t understand. I am very fearful of death, but it can make me alive.

I encourage no one to try this sort of thing. It is dangerous and probably illegal.

From the annals of Habib al’Taib, Wasteland Druid of Dejiy

Entry II

The day has been as harsh as the tales of Akaron would suggest. This is not a place for the weak. It is not even a place for the strong. Akaron is a land of perpetual warfare where armies rise and fall at every moment. There can be no peace in this place, only conflict and bloodshed. Only those truly gifted in both body and mind could hope survive here. Akaron is as tough as it is cunning. And it takes a fool to embark on our mission.

I am writing after a hellish day of bringing us ever closer to our mark. Our path has been obstructed by devils, demons, and strange elemental creatures I chose not to investigate too closely lest we waste more time. Tzadzik has fallen again, this time upon the spear of an Ice Devil. I should not have sent him in too closely. I shall bring him back when we complete our mission for I have not the time to perform the ceremony. Time is becoming critical. We are making steady progress, but who would have known that the Seer domain would be so difficult to reach. I am spent physically, emotionally, and magically; my friends fatigued by the rigorous demands of our trip. One can walk for days without stopping, however flying requires the use of all limbs and a tail to stay aloft. Thankfully the gravity between the cubes is forgiving enough so that we may keep a steady pace without collapsing of exhaustion. We have but three days left.

My friends and I have decided that the best course of action would be to contact the Fomorians and attempt to workout a deal, however Edyleen’s intelligence tells us that they have been recently molested by Slaadi, disguised as human warriors. Our initial contacts will probably be violent, however I have faith that we will be able to make them see our point of view. After all the worst that can happen is that their Queen will scan our minds and use us to achieve the same ends we seek. I am not over concerned.

I am grateful, for the day has brought us upon a vast cube teeming with life. It is good to feel the grass again, and such a haven brings me hope that Akaron is not yet completely consumed by destruction and death. I will rest now, for tomorrow may prove to be yet another grueling ordeal.

Entry III

Estand is fool. One sometimes wonders how a powerful servant of the God of war could be so incompetent in diplomacy. We arrived at the Seer domain with great difficulty costing us a small fortune to the God of war. With the help of his servant we managed to escape another intrusion from the minions of Chaos. Our arrival to the Seer domain was quick, and I had another chance to relax before landing on its surface. We quickly encountered a dispatch of Fomorians and attempted contact. Since Estand is capable of communicating with the creatures, it was up to him to plead our case. And so when the Fomorians took control of my mind I was confident that we would eventually be scanned for information, and the truth learned. Not so. Estand fought off the enchantment, which might not have been a bad idea after all, until he managed to make contact with them and turned us into their servants. The Queen still has no idea of Shadowthrone’s plans, or capabilities should he succeed, and now we are off on some fool mission to eradicate the Slaadi, with not 2 days left before he completes the ritual. He insists it would not have made a difference. Fool. We have no time. The words “ritual” or even “complete defeat of Law as we know it” did not once cross his mind. Grand strategist indeed. I think the worst part of it all is that I was under the enchantment of the Fomorians and hence incapable of speaking for him. Next time I will know better.

For now we are on our way to fight Slaadi and recover a Fomorian Taskmaster as proof of our intentions to the Queen. She knows only that we are on, “Some important quest for the forces of Law” or something rather. Since we have no time, we have had to fly all day pushing ourselves to the edge of endurance. I seem to be holding up ok, but the rest of my companions have had to be sustained by magical means. We have no time. We cannot in two days fly back to the Fomorians, then to Iron Fortress and defeat him. The ritual will be complete and when that happens he will be able to search for us. Finally the final holder of the rod piece will come after us rather than us to him or her. Anyway the damage is done, what will come will come. It is unfortunate that the events seem to be even beyond the influence of the Gods themselves. Praying the Huntress for guidance is bringing me no reassurance whatsoever.

There are times when I think that certain things in life are like going to a swimming pool in the spring, begging for a semblance of summer. The swimming pools, during these periods, are full and free during the week, cheap during the weekends. I spend hours every summer bathing in the collective juices of humanity, straining for physical superiority over the people I water wrestle with. I try to swim every day when the weather permits because its fun, and indoor pools just don’t do it for me. However I am digressing.

Firstly. Without loss of generality I will assume that most people, including myself usually find pool water to be cold upon entry. Secondly, I assume that there exists a continuum of methods for pool entry, the extremes of which lie in either throwing one’s self in whilst screaming ,”Geronimo!” and the slower method of careful insertion into the water. I further assume that the latter takes longer time to achieve than the former. That being said agents are faced with the difficult decision of choosing a method of pool entry which minimizes desired level of pain experienced at insertion, and the amount of time it takes to do it, thereby maximizing the level of “fun” experienced by a trip to the swimming pool. (Note: At this stage of my analysis I am still drawing the analogy exclusively to swimming pools).

I don’t know about you guys but I choose to throw myself in. It hurts like hell, but you get over it much faster, leaving you more time spent beating the living crap out of your buddies under water.

Despite the feathers, I could feel the droplets of sweat dripping from my beak, onto the ground thirty feet below. As in the past we had triumphed again, but what about next time? No, no time to think, people are injured and I dive-bombed below to my wounded friends. The creature we had just scared off was a Horned Devil, and after defeating his minions he’d fled the battle, but at what cost? I had revealed our nature and purpose to the thing, and no doubt it would be reporting our presence to its master. No doubt our target knew we were coming after him. I felt foolish for my mistake, very foolish indeed believing that the thing would acquiesce to an unwilling slave of a Duke of Hell.

As I began tending to the wounded we spoke of our course of action. Much of my magic had been spent in the fight, and there was no doubt that we would have to rest before reaching our mark. Akaron is a dangerous place for resting, and there is little safety in this world. Valenkel informed us of a means to returning to the temple of the Old Man for rest, but that would result is the loss of two days, and we had but six left to complete our mission.

As we argued, another evil agent made an appearance. The creature was large and ugly, with gargantuan mammaries which sagged almost to the floor, and tiny wings which I knew could serve imperfectly in flight. A Malfeshne. “Beware its illusion,” I managed before transforming into a bear. Tzadik, Kay and, Amber charged in whilst Valenkel fired an arrow.

We came out even more weary than before having defeated two supernatural agents and their minions, one right after another. I patched everyone up as best I could and turned us into birds so that we would be on our way, muttering a plea to the Huntress to guide us to our prey unchallenged. I should have asked louder.

Our next impasse came in the form of a giant wasp swarm so thick that we were unable to keep our mighty breakfast down. However Estand had done his work well, and despite the nausea the poisonous stings did not affect my friends. I do not fear poison myself. I also learned that day that hell wasps have a substantial resistance to fire, and It was only after hitting Valenkel with a fiery aura that they dispersed. Once again we were on our way.

Our destination was that a world which belonged to shadow elves. I know not much about the race, but Valenkel insisted that its peoples knew the location of our mark. Upon arriving we organized a shelter molded from the rocks itself. Valenkel was turning out to be more useful than just a guide, and he fashioned a crude dome for us to rest in before continuing our journey. Our respite was interrupted only by a brief encounter between Kay and some bipedal creature which I did not recognize. It had been content to warn us to stay out of its way. It seemed to think that we should know it by reputation, but not being from these lands I knew not its race or purpose, nor did any of our company. We were content not to fight it and recover our strength. The following morning I communed with the natural forces of the Cube, and determined the location of an unnatural formation in the vicinity. We moved towards it, hopping it to be a shadow elven settlement.

She did not give us her name, but it became quickly clear that she was the mistress of the world which we had landed on. My friends and I are not people of great eloquence, but all things considered we did manage to keep a relatively non-insulting appearance. We offered gold as the price for the information we sought, and were guided to an elven woman who had just returned from a reconnaissance mission on Shadowthrone’s cube. Her name was Edilene, and just as we were about to obtain the information we sought did a dart pierce her neck rendering her incapable to defending herself. The assassins were the creatures which Kay had encountered earlier, and they did not attack us having considered us fearful of their presence. Their overconfidence cost them the battle, and although the leader escaped, Edilene remained unharmed.

Shadowthrone lives on the Cube called the Seerdomain, however his power over the cube is far from perfect as he is challenged by a fomorian matriarch for mastery of the world. He considers her a mere pest, and as such, has not checked her power, working diligently on mastering the Rod of Seven Parts. It is a ritual which we came to prevent. It is why he must die. We were also provided with a map of the Seerdomaine. If we move fast enough it will remain in its current location, although Shadowthrone is by now warned of our quest to eliminate him. It is said he is a descendent of a Dragon God, and master creator of powerful weapons, a true genius in the art, capable of dishing out items rivaling the power of the Sword of Kings or Bloodthirster of Krook Ma’Kali. Normally I would not interfere with such powerful forces, however mother earth has chosen me as its representative as protector Tellene, and no one else is qualified to do the job. I’m also bound to the Duke, by no will of my own. I can still recall glimpses of the torments I endured at his hand. My only hope is that Kassali has worked out something. He’s had ten years dammit, and he had to disappear on me again. So now I am left a slave of a most unnatural beast.

No man, that’s enough quit it, stop worrying. Life is to be taken one step at a time. Resolve this issue, then worry about something else. There is no time, and right now the order of things is more important than my soul. The status quo must be maintained. I am an agent of life. If I am to suffer an eternity of torment in her service I will. I have faith in her mercy. I will prevail.

Several years back when I was a wee lad an important decision presented itself to me which had to be resolved. Up to that point I had been an earnest student of the computer sciences, and the resolution of problems using programming. I had studied several low level computer languages, and even use my skills from time to time to resolve minor issues which occurred in daily life. I was the local computer geek that everyone knew to solve their problems and naturally, I migrated towards other nerds in an attempt to find common ground. I made many friends most of which I lost eventually, but I was, and still am, a member of an exclusive group of people who spent lots of time surfing the worlds of the BBS (pre-internet file sharing) and the beginnings of the popularization of the computer. I saw the internet come into private use almost a year before it actually took off. I even helped set it up at the school I studied at when I was living in the states.

And so naturally the nature of this big decision of which I was referring to, before digressing, was weather or not to pursue my hobby into the realm of the career. I new the science fairly well, enjoyed resolving problems, and was computer literate enough to score the odd job as a local computer geek, slacking off playing games, overwhelming the curious with enough jargon to cover my ass. But there were so many of us out there, and so many more entering the domain. I started believing that perhaps there would be too many of us eventually, and that the online advertising industry was way more hyped up than it really was. For these reasons, and the great frustration I felt whenever I came across a problem I couldn’t solve, I decided that a better future was in store for me if I kept my hobby a hobby. I proceeded more towards something different. I think I was the only one back then in my group of friend who diverged, and I chose to take French literature over computer science. I told them that by graduation time there would be too many computer guys out there, and that we would have to spend the rest of our lives being updated with the technology, constantly relearning, always pushing to stay ahead of the obsolete. Too much competition. Even then I thought like an economist.

I’d say a made the right decision after seeing how the world turned out. I am somewhat smug at the accuracy of my predictions. On the other hand life has slapped me in the face seeing as I’ve spent the last several weeks, and will be spending the next several more, working on some econometric regressions using programming languages. I’m staring at statistics, ones and zeroes mostly, and the irony of the situation is almost too funny for me to ignore. Some things never change.

Debugging still gives me headaches.

I am a man who is perpetually ashamed of the past. The present and future always represent the opportunity for self improvement and re-evaluation of one’s own self worth, confidence, direction, understanding, satisfaction, goals, morals, attitudes, accomplishments, the list goes on and on. As a result of this never-ending quest for perfection, I never manage to look at my past fondly. Every time I go back to the way things were, I always scoff and laugh at how stupid I was, how ignorant, and most importantly how far I’ve come since. I never manage to look upon them as the good ol days anymore only because I am currently obsessed with achieving something greater than that which I was.

This phenomena has made me very bitter in many respects. including towards the people in my past. I have had a dynamic life, moving around perpetually from one place to another, and as a result of this, every new change was an opportunity to change something, and to become a better person. I embraced each and every one to the fullest, but the result was that I have come to dislike and disregard the people which I so loved in my past. I come to realize that with very few exceptions I not only do not stay in touch with people, but also end up sometimes disliking them not for who they are, but because they represent something of the weaker person I once was. This unfair judgment has only recently come to my attention, and I am realizing that it is not fair what I have done. I am ashamed of this even as I am proud of who I am at this very instant.

I doubt that any of these people are reading this but if they are I’m sorry. There, I said it. However in spite of this I am not prepared to go back, tracking people down for the sake of doing it. My mind and heart and soul are content with my current circle. I am hopelessly in love with the people who surround me right now, and have been for quite some time now. I believe that my settling down is beginning to bring about a new era of understanding and self-betterment which I was unable to achieve in my perpetual movement. To try and go back in time would upset the balance which I have built. In the future I will try and live my life without regrets.

Life has brought me to a point of delirious happiness and extreme angst. The two are unrelated. I am at the same time full of hope and frightened to death. I am dreamy eyed and paranoid simultaneously. The two things are unrelated, but I wonder at how one can feel emotions of opposite extremes at the same time. True there is a fine line between love and hate. True extreme happiness can make one cry, and reflect on one’s inner faults. However this is generally due to one event at a time. Two events generating the opposite effects don’t cancel each other out. They push sanity to its limits. Welcome to midterms. Time is on my side. Soon the negative will end for better or for worse. It’s looking like the good is here to stay for at least a little while longer. I’m becoming more and more cheesy every day. I can’t stop grinning unless I’m trying to prove asymptotic normality of an ordinary least squares estimator, and even then. I am foolish, soppy, hopelessly retarded. I feel great.

Behold, for there is indeed light at the end of a dark tunnel. One that can and will illuminate, once again, all the sordid images flickering from a formerly shrouded conviction. Behold, for within the glory of the light lies the answers to all things, and an overwhelming acceptance of all that is beautiful and pure. Behold for within brightness of the phenomena, joy is to be found; there is life where once there was apathy. There is euphoria as the power of the illumination shines so brightly that even that which was once hidden is now even harder to understand. Behold the glory of innocence. Behold the safety of the knowledge that somewhere a miracle arises. Behold as the miracle itself takes you into her soft arms shielding you from everything which threatened to rip you from the tenuous hold you once had over a turbulent existence. Behold the worry evaporating. Behold the passion of love. Behold the desire, the beauty, the fertility of your surroundings. Behold a feeling of extreme contentment. Behold, and bask in the glory of existence. Behold yourself. Behold… LIFE!