A Grim Flavour

I haven't roleplayed in several months. In large part it was due to my health. But to a lesser extent boredom caused it.

You see I've been a storyteller my entire life, and the hardest part of being a good storyteller is to tell the stories that your audiance wants to hear. Too many storytellers don't do that. I have to limit myself to what my players can both handle (in terms of skill) and enjoy. My setting has a distinct flavour which I am very proud of. A dose of high fantasy, a touch of sci-fi, a few sprinkles of drama and intrigue. It reflects it's creators broad range of ideas as well as being a deeply fascinating mesh.

It would be unfair to say that I am bored of my world, or the ideas it represents, or the stories and characters therein. Closer to the truth would be to say I am bored with using the same tools, inspirations and general Mileu. I've added to my arsenal of storytelling almost non-stop for the last ten years. I've played in almost the same exact way for even longer then that. Its become a mold that stifles my creativity and bores me. I've been playing with an idea for a few months now. I've decided the time is right to gather some players and do it. I call it dreadspire.

It started with a simple image in my head. A row of battered bleary eyed heroes standing on a barren blasted landscape. Each looks with a combination of dread and awe upwards. It is wrong to call the dreadspire a tower, for towers are made of brick and morter. The dreadspire appears to be a giant ebon screw twisting itself into an empty sky. It's a marval of magical engineering; the spire itself breaches the ancient dimension of horrors, it appears to be made of whirling unspeakable darkness, but in truth it is the very fabric of reality twisted to new purpose.

It was an interesting idea, I had always intended to add more gothic elements to my setting but never had the time or inclination to follow them through. I took that inital interesting idea and melded it into my settings existing history. The tower was constructed by the 3rd apprentice of Zom who attempted to enslave the horrors of the otherworld. Being undead he was resistant to the effects of the horrors at first. But slowly it started to erode what remained of his sanity. With what remained of his wit he attempted to seal the breach between the two dimensions. Although partially successful the taint from that dimension has leaked into the countryside... a remote valley kingdom along the eastern border of Brenntor and Kokuran.

The tiny kingdom's armies are soom engulfed by lesser horrors and the crazed necromancers now escaped minions. It escapes the notice of the major powers completely. Mordathal has been sacked and the children of Taia greatly depleted. The knights of Brenntor and the Elves cannot leave the Worldseed unguarded and therefore cannot be of aid. Most of the other powers suffered heavy losses in the war of the sundered soul, the only two major players to remain unscathed were the demons of Kilrah and the Celestials of Sethror. Both had refused to venture troops to the mortal plane and it appears that trend would continue.

The temples to the gods are destroyed in this tiny country, the monasteries for monks, the wizards towers. The survivors are pushed back farther and farther. Heroes, adventurers, knights, sellswords and even the occasional supernatural rise up to fight the spreading corruption. Most are cut down or driven insane. Some become undead and others are twisted by the otherworld into soulless monsters.
Finally from the west comes a hope. The crusader Pell brings his army of undead hunters, with him are an order of Chronomancers who intend to seal the rift of the Dreadspire.

The genre of Gothic horror is famous for some elements of this situation. The powerlessness of the local government, the fall of heroes, corruption of even the most noble or powerful. The themes are plentiful. But what makes them interesting in the context of my setting is what I bring to bear against the unspeakable horrors. Often in Gothic horror the heroes are portrayed as being powerless against the old ones except for a bit of rare lore or a powerful artifact. In my setting magic is plentiful and replaces technology in many regards. The old ones are powerful but they are they are not indestructible. Mortals have the power to combat them. The breach can be repaired by the Eternal Order who watches over the health of time and space. The undead are not so fearsome to Pell's crusaders who have fought them for two decades.

Also one thing makes my Gothic horror sub-setting better then most others. No werewolves fighting vampires. Seriously. We get it. Cut it out with the vamps v wolves thing.

PvP, All night long

This morning/last night was the first time in years that I have spent the entire night in WoW pvping.

It's funny because Adul isn't even geared or specc'ed for PvP. I built him for long fights and mana efficiency: slow and steady DPS. Despite my spec and gear being all wrong for it I dominated several games and rarely got under 3rd place.

The mage requires a very high degree of skill in WoW, He dies easily which means he has to constantly be moving around. However if your moving you can't cast your most powerful spells.
On top of that the recent hunter buff has taken away the one slim advantage we had over them. If an enemy ducks behind something and breaks your line of sight your spell fails.
Because of these and a million other factors a mage is easily one of the hardest and most reflex intense classes in the game. (I give rogues credit in this area as well.)

4 months ago I wouldn't have had the reflexes to do this, and my reflexes are still no where compared to what they once were. But tonight felt really good. WoW is a hobby, games are my hobby. But it feels incredible to start to reclaim this aspect of my life, because even (or especially) a hobby is worth doing the very best you can.

It's funny really, even though I was there for honor I didn't really care about getting more honor/wins. I just really enjoyed what I was doing. A lot of times people PvP to get better gear... for PvP but they don't enjoy it. It boggles my mind sometimes.



On a slightly related manner I'm getting everything gathered again to start work on my sorting. I got sick before I finished last time and I lost a lot of my progress. Most of my free time lately has been spent getting my WoW characters back to a playable level. It's really not the most productive use of my time but lately I haven't really cared. Maybe blowing everything off to kill horde isn't such a bad thing, it does relieve a lot of stress.

The 100th Post

Last post I talked about life being an open book. But I have to expand on that once more.

When I became ill I suffered what could be described as a psychotic break. It's a colorful word but not entirely accurate. Most of the time a psychotic break is used to describe Schizophrenia or other forms of psychosis. The part of the word that is accurate is a psychotic break is the event or first occurrence of psychosis. It literally means the psyche is broken.

A had years of study in the field of psychology not to mention a great deal of emotional and mental fortitude. but all that didn't matter. I saw it coming and could do nothing. It hovered at the fringe of my mind, at the moment I was most vulnerable and emotionally weak it struck.

It was a disease of the body but it most severely affected my mind. At the time I began to manifest symptoms of Schizophrenia (Delusions, hallucinations etc) which honestly scared me more then anything. I will not detail the events of that night, even now it's too personal... and painful for me to talk about. My entire life has been about fighting whatever enemy or challenge was before me. I spent that night in a struggle I had no idea how to fight until I became tired, then depressed and finally I gave up.

My personality changed, on the outside everything appeared normal. 95% of people didn't notice the difference. But I was very different. I was ruthless, uncaring and vicious to many people. I didn't feel warm or open towards anyone, I became extremely paranoid and aggressive. At work I became even more successful, my ruthlessness increased the money I made by almost three times as much. But the dark and ruthless did not get a free ride.

I felt as though my personality had been fragmented or shattered between a good and evil half.
In hindsight I came to believe that the split had to do with my deep held belief in duality. Surely the evil that existed within me had always existed there. But when the whole became two parts the evil side overpowered the good. It doesn't matter if it's true or not. What I believed made it so.

When the infection was removed and I recovered... I felt different. I had literally lost everything and everyone I cared about in this time. Only one person stayed with me the entire time, no matter what she was there and never gave up on me. Had she not stopped me I would not be alive today, or worse I would've completely lost myself in the confusion of my mind. The kind of loyalty and love she showed me cannot be expressed with words and for it she is greater to me then any hero past or present.

Even after my recovery three things have lingered, One thing that I have struggled with and mentioned to few. In addition to my migraines I have lingering flashbacks. Certain things, certain people trigger me to relive that terrifying and painful day. Although I am perfectly fine now the memory of it still strikes terror into me, I get a cold sweat and lock up. If it's a memory of pain my chest begins to ache and I feel as if I am about to burst into tears.

The second is the physical symptoms. The migraines I mentioned before. But shortly before the infection was removed I suffered temporary paralysis. I was unable to move my hands very much and at one point my left hand essentially became a vice-like claw. My reflexes have never fully required until just recently. Although I am not anywhere near my peak my reflexes have improved enough for micro heavy classes in WoW and I'm able to use my sword without possibility of further injury. This makes me happy to no end... if only I could get rid of the migraines now.

The last is one I spoken about in veiled comments. The loss of my spiritual self.
If there was one thing that brought me the most pain, it was the feeling of losing my soul.
When I was disposed towards evil I was filled with malice towards everyone, contempt and paranoia. I have to admit at times I even enjoyed the freedom of those emotions without guilt. (Although the guilt that followed pretty much ruined even that.) But all they did was mask the fact that the core of what I was simply ceased to exist. I know the moment, the action that caused me to walk away from my beliefs. Had I not done that I would've had another shield, another layer of defense against the corrosion of those times. But I was desperate to make myself whole, I reached out to people and they rejected me. One person made me feel better and I was willing to throw away everything I believed in to win her affection. But it didn't work. She was terrified of me and rejected me out of hand.

I did something then that I had never done before. I changed a deep part of myself for someone else. When I was younger I watched as women manipulated my father and used him for their own designs. I saw the power they had and vowed never to let it control me. Afterwards the things I had believed in didn't mean anything to me, they became just words: Honor, Balance, Self and Honesty. In the confusion I felt then I believed that another person could make me whole. But I had forgotten my own beliefs. That a person is a whole unto himself. No person can cure me or make me whole other then me.

The person I was then was destroyed because I made mistakes, because I was arrogant and shortsighted. I realized that I am a whole, filled with divisions and factions. That something that appears as one piece can in truth be many pieces working as one. My inability to recognize that nuance lead me to attack things that were not the problem. Although I will never again suffer that particular series of events the odds are good I will never completely heal from it either.

I have to say these things because if I do not drag them into the harsh light of day I can never be rid of them. I have too many immediate goals and problems to remain forever anchored in a past I cannot change. This will be the last I speak of the situation for awhile, I feel the writing has helped me me a lot... but the time has come to shift to the story of a reborn person and not a dying one.

An open book

One of the things I love about writing fiction is how impersonal I can be. It's essentially making things up and getting paid for it. I often find however that writing about myself, ideas or experiences I am filled with a sense of dread or loathing. Part of me has always been paranoid about opening up to people, a paranoia that has been enforced by a lifetime of verbal abuse and neglect.

At one point in my life I decided that I didn't like keeping everything inside, internalizing my pain didn't make it feel any better and it was hardly protection from someone who actually did want to hurt me. So I decided I would be an open book. I wouldn't hide or lie about myself or my beliefs. For a long time I felt better about myself for being honest and open. Although I do admit on occasion to violate my own policy, but mostly my life is/was an open book.

The troubles it has gotten me into are sometimes funny, and other times very very depressing.
I have missed so many opportunities in my life because I was unwilling to lie or compromise my personal ethics. It's particularly funny in regards to relationships. One time I fell in love with two girls. At the time I didn't know which I liked more and when they asked me that's what I told them. It hurt both of them and it blew up in my face.

Being an open book and having a code of ethics does not make me a fool however. In battle, competition and any other contest of wills a lie is a tactical move. It costs you honor and respect but if you have extra to spare then go for it. My rivals and enemies are more then willing to lie, I should be prepared to do the same.

After some of the things that have happened to me it's difficult to remain an open book. If I told some people how I felt it would destroy them, and they may even deserve it. But I don't want to be that kind of person. It is an uneasy balance between being open and not unleashing a flood of anger and assorted negative feelings. I have to accept that a lot of people abandoned me when things didn't look good, But I learned from it who I can really trust in the long run.
It's difficult to get closure with people when you cannot speak to them anymore. A catch-22 that the most dangerous hurtful elements in life must be faced head on. If you do not face them head on they fester inside you forever like a disease.

I say these things because there were moments I was weak.

I forgot about my honor, I forgot about the condition of my soul and sank into an emo-filled pit of apathy. A lack of honesty about my condition and feelings drove me into it too. If I had told people something was wrong I may have been able to avert it, or at least prepare them for it when it came. I was ashamed and I concealed it. It wasn't until I stood on the brink between life and death that I was able to admit to anyone... especially myself that I did not have control.

Someday I will be able to talk about the things that happened, and the things that I felt... and still feel. But for the moment it's too dangerous, a special exemption to the open-book policy in my life. There are some people I can talk to, very special trusted people in the meantime. And someday I will be able to write about it here.

I have to air these things. To show my shame and weakness because I don't want them to be my shame and weakness forever. I'm starting to awaken, not just to who I was but to who I should be.

Great Simplicity

I've had time recently to reflect on my writing.

When I write on this blog I'm often doing it to work out something. My thoughts or my feelings are confused and I need to try to make sense of them. It really does help... but doesn't make for really good writing. That's a moot point however since my talents are found within fiction.

It's easy to look at my blog and think "god he's just an emo little bastard isn't he?". It might even be true. This is a modest attempt at correcting that; I make no promises for the future however.

It's funny. When I was young I thought I was such a great writer. I was actually pretty good. But not for the reasons I thought. I had a natural talent, words and concepts came easily to me. I was far better then my peers (Some would argue that's hardly worth merit.) and devoted huge amounts of time to reading and practice.

Around 12 or so I started to get into heavy lit. Shakespeare, Voltaire, Hemingway, Poe etc. That was when I first started to realize that my gift was less then I had imagined. The first serious brick wall I hit as a reader was Kant's Critique of pure reason. I was intellectually unprepared for the power of his ideas. A child can understand Shakespeare or Voltaire. But it takes a mature intellect to grasp the complexities of Kant's work.

During this time of my life I would 6 or more books a week; sometimes as many as 12. I learned very quickly how to duplicate another writers style, I was able to find patterns that acted as a "tell" into the authors mind. With all this study I became good at understanding writers, but I didn't really feel like a writer anymore. You see I never had my own "style".

I could duplicate another writers style, but I never felt comfortable with my own words. The style was awkward and seemed to reach. My natural gift had taken me as far as it could. My personal life was often chaotic and my interests started to wander more as I got older... I never really became comfortable with any one style and instead used a nearly schizophrenic smattering.

The way I write now is completely different and it's thanks to one thing. Religion.
Taoism is itself a simple religion and yet it applies to virtually everything in life. Many writers fill page after page without saying anything of worth. Some writers pack their writing in too tight making it feel rushed. I want to say exactly what I mean with just the right words and at just the right pace. Kant spoke about topics of such complexity that it would seem to be at odds with my personal beliefs. But when I read the book again I understood what Kant was saying. I will tell you a simple truth. Kant wrote about a topic of great complexity in the simplest way possible.

Great simplicity hides complexity. Things that are subtle delight the mind and invite the imagination. I struggle with style sometimes, I wrestle with the fickle muse for the perfect word, I listen in the dark of the night for the perfect thought and the elusive feeling. It is this simple, chaotic, terrifying and beautiful act of creation that I have devoted my life to and I would have it no other way.

My natural talent and inclination was a gift from my mother. It's entirely my challenge where it takes me from here.

Till my last breath

Somes in trauma a memory becomes burned into the psyche; a smell, sound or taste brings back memories of betryal, heartbreak, deep sadness and guilt. We seek escape and release in new memories, in fantasy, in denial or by shutting ourselves off completely from the world.

I have my entire life been master of fantasy. I have dwelled in the richness of my imagination from the unfairness and cruelty of my early life. I learned as I grew older to shape it and use it for performance and writing. Even some of my hobbies dwell within the realms of fantasy: books, games and anime. But never have been slave to it.

It is for this same reason I refuse to drink to excess, I fear the loss of control.
I have seen what the loss of control does to a person, what addiction does to the mind. How the soul dies in stagnation when it is not fed. I could've ran into the world of fantasy and been a slave. This path is different but perhaps the reward greater.

It is an eerie feeling as I realize that I am trapped. The contridictions themselves appear almost absurd. I want to undo damage from a time I was behaving irrationally from illness, but I am afraid to speak to those people: moreover they won't speak to me.
I want to be forgiven for actions I have been assured I did not commit, yet I remember them as if they occured yesterday and the guilt is not less because of the circumstances.

Worst of all is the realization that the trap is complete; I am unwilling to escape. Perhaps in that regard it is better to refer to it as a cage. Although the cage has no freedom and is generally unplesant it's not all that dangerous. I fear the ruthlessness and cruelty I was capable of... it isn't something I can understand or comprehend. I guess all I can call it is primal... like it belongs to a darker animal part of my psyche.

I think honestly I would choose death before letting that happen again. Many would call that a cowards way out... but I don't think I have it in me for another round of that.
But my fear is not just for others, but also my own mortal soul. At times it felt as if I stood on the line between eternal damnation and an escape to forgiveness. I felt if I held on alittle while longer I would be redeemed somehow.

The fire in my soul burns to embers but has not died. I overcame death, depression and sickness and I refuse to be trapped by my own fear and hesitance now. Someday my children will face their own trials; they will ask me "what should I do?" and I don't want to be a hypocrite when I tell them that fear should not stop them. I'll say to them "don't let anything stop you, not while you still draw breath." and I won't be a hypocrite when I say it.

So thats my new motto. I'm going to keep saying it till It sticks. I need to remember that while I live I can change and the future changes with me: So until I stop breathing nothing will stop me.

World of Insight Pt two.

I said I would elaborate on the previous post and true to my word here I am.

Playing Dawn and Adul gave me an insight into how I used to play. It's one small facet of a very rich life and doesn't give me everything I needed. I had some time to delve deeper into my memories to a time before World of Warcraft.

I don't know what kind of Taoist listens to Bon Jovi, Creed and Vertical Horizon before classes but I did. I would close my eyes and free my mind. As time went on I was put under more and more stress and I started to meditate less and less. There were times when I meditated 3 times a day without fail and kept my mind and reflexes sharp. Other times I was lazy and did maybe two or three times a month.

I had a kind of indestructable spirit that always kept me from falling into the deeper aspects of my personality. It was uplifting and attracted into my life a variety of friends, lovers and comrades.

I now see with clarity the layer upon layer of fear and pain that has dragged me down. I was detoured from my path because of this and I will not tolerate the delay any longer. I have no future while I remain like this... and if the answer requires struggle and sacrifice then I say good. My first stop is long over due, I need to see someone special before I can do this. Once thats done I need to hunt down each and every problem and solve it.

Goodnight and godspeed

World of Insight?

This post has been stewing in my head for some weeks trying to take a fitting form... but really I think it's because I'm afraid to write it then any writers block.

It's really a poorly kept secret that my health isn't good, bad enough that in fact that I was forced to leave my job and live a lean simple life off savings and scavenging. I've had little to no luck in fighting the migraines and perpetual pain that I've been feeling for the past half year. If my weight loss follows the trend it has I will be within double digits in the next week or so.
So needless to say I've been pretty miserable aside from a new moments I can gleam with Holley, Warren or Ashlyn.

Writing, the outdoors, most video games, books and most activities that require alot of thought have been nixxed. That leaves TV and World of Warcraft.

WoW rarely requires me to think, the fact of the matter is I can play it completely off instinct and be completely fine. Adul only requires 4-5 keys to play and rarely has a situation that isn't handled by copious amounts of Fireball. WoW gives me alot of time to think... and it gives a tiny window into my past.

You see it's simple. When I played Dawnstalker I was in good health, emotionally, spiritually and psychologically in top shape. I was ruthless and cunning to my enemies and kind and loving to my friends. I had an eye for detail, patience and insight. Aside from a few debacles here and there I was well known on the server and generally well liked. Dawn was the very ideal of the perfection I seek in my life.

However when my real life turned sour so did my persona. The guild I poured myself into building turned on me and fell into ruin. Which mattered little to me because of the chaos and desperation I faced in reality. I could have easily turned back to the fictional world of Azaroth and buried myself so deeply in it that reality disappeared. But I didn't and it was a very long time before I did return.

After all that happened I couldn't bear the idea of playing Dawn anymore, the memories she brought back literally physically hurt me. So I used my first high level character Adul (Transfered from my old server of Kel-thuzad). Adul was another era entirely for me, It was with Adul that I learned I had skills in leadership, organazing and group tactics. Adul was training for Dawn and I didn't fully understand that until I dusted him off and played him again.

When I finished leveling Adul I quickly got to work on his raiding gear. For those of you who don't know much about games of this genre... it requires a fair amount of time commitment to gather all the things needed for truly great gear. In Adul's case it's Spellfire.... now like the name suggests it's built for characters who use magical fire and the materials for it mainly drop off guys that are completely immune to fire. That means Adul would require an obscene amount of time to craft his gear. (My frost damage being quite sad.) Dawn however can kill these troublesome mobs effortlessly; painful as it was if I wanted to advance I had to play Dawn.

If playing Adul is easy then playing Dawn is a hundred times more so. When I stopped playing her she had the best gear in the game and a signficant stockpile of resources. The memories she invoked lead me to a line of thinking I had pondered and discarded long ago. You see I can see how different I am compared to before. I have a weak sense of self and I constantly seek approval and attention. Before I was happy sitting in the shadows watching (I had an ego then too and wasn't afraid to show it off... but this is just pathetic now) and enjoying the satisfaction of my work.

My self esteem isn't the primary cause for concern. Dawn invoked powerful memories of betryal in me. I realized for the first time that my failure to resolve them was still causing me pain. I'm not even talking about WoW mostly. When my world collapsed I was hurt and angry... in turn I hurt others and became hated. There are hundreds of studies that document the link between emotional health and physical health. There are even afew books I own that cover it in great deal. I think perhaps I buried my pain so deeply that it transformed itself.

I get angry now for no reason, I get depressed over nothing. I have pain that I have never in my entire life felt. For most of my life I never got angry; I was even-tempered and calm. Depression was occasional but never lasted long.

Playing Dawn helped me remember that when I had problems I would attack them face on, when something was wrong I fixed it right away. There are many many people that have hurt me and that I am have hurt... many of whom no longer speak to me. Could it really be the answer? Will my body heal when my heart and soul no longer feel this burden?
I'm going to revisit this. But for now I must rest.

Clutter

Today I was bored.

I’ve had this problem my whole life; I have unwatched DVDs on my shelf, unfinished games for every console I own, stacks of books to read and dozens of projects that require urgent attention.

So I spent the first half of my only day off this week doing completely nothing. After some delicious café rio I went on a shopping trip and got the next book in “the age of discovery” series. After that I tried to play some La Pucelle on my PS2.

The problem I have with La Pucelle is I’ve thrust deeply into the game without much leveling or taking time to build my team. It’s gotten to the point where I am vastly under leveled and the irony therein is the crafty tactics and skillful use of purification tiles I’ve been using doesn’t grant any XP. So the game is actually punishing me for playing well. If I played the game like a generic hack ‘n slash romp I would be level 18 instead of 12 and not frustrated with the sudden maddening increase in game difficulty. It’s gotten so bad that unless I level I cannot progress any further in the game.So rather then the much hating task of leveling I turned my attention to more then two years worth of paper backlog.

Every time I design something I write it down, every time I hear something or feel something I try to write it down, every interesting thought, dream and experience gets written down. Throw that on top of everything I write professionally, scholastically or for practice and it adds up. Then add on medical paperwork, bills, magazines, work requests and correspondence that accumulated while I was sick and during my move. To make matters worse the vast majority of it is unsorted or roughly sorted.

My mind is surprisingly orderly, with thoughts that run in logically sorted paths or trees. Often I’m able to handle large abstract concepts by building them out of smaller concepts. I might have a hard time remembering a specific fact or concept but I can “backtrack” and find it with a few moments of thought. The way I organize my files mirrors those thoughts; and although it makes perfect sense to me almost nobody else can understand it. My files are sorted first by what category of my life they go into. Personal, professional or social; then they are sorted by genre, then by Genre again.

For example I have files on role-playing: I have file for 1st. 2nd and 3rd edition D&D, Shadowrun, Whitewolf, Paranoia, various homebrew’s, JRAS, GURPS, Palladium and BESM. Then I take it a step further and isolate the game folders by setting; in my Drakkor setting alone I have 8 folders. I also have folders for extra character sheets (Shadowrun, D&D 2nd and 3rd edition and Whitewolf specifically.) and future character concepts.

The idea of organizing them alphabetically, chronologically or randomly doesn’t make sense to me. Instead everything is ordered according to use. 3rd Edition Drakkor stuff is in the front, Palladium and JRAS is in the back.

Thankfully my formal writing, research, design and role-playing is formatted and sorted pretty well. The big problem is what I call scraps.Scraps are anything I start to write and give up; scraps are half or fully formed ideas that I write down and stuff into my pocket. Scraps are interesting designs that I scribble on the back of a receipt while I’m working or driving. I have unsorted scraps from as far back as high school. Many of them were the genesis of ideas that later became thesis papers, stories, character/class designs or philosophical musings. Each layer reveals a very orderly progression of my natural thinking. To see those little seedlings of ideas on paper touches me in a strange way: I can really see my mind at work in microcosm.

It has however added up to the point where I have dozens of pages of rewritten scraps and only a fraction of my way into that epic pile of ideas. Add to that old dance pictures, playing cards, recipes, awards, phone numbers from long forgotten girls, manuals for video games and other odds and ends that have ended up in my oversized box of scraps.

This is both a task that is both complex and inane. When it is done I will have a database of my thought processes stretching back into the formative era of my career; both as a game designer and a writer.

Cha-cha changes

It’s been awhile since I’ve updated my blogs; for this I am deeply sorry.
Recent shifts in priorities have put writing on a back burner; and to be honest more then just my priorities have shifted.

My health has made a good comeback. I have at excellent control over the migraines now. Everything is getting better in some measure. I came to realize that the path my life was on simply wasn’t moving the way it should. The progress was too slow and I felt isolated from the world while trying to perfect my technique as a writer. My true strength as a writer is in my ability to observe what others overlook; in isolation I see far less and consequently become enamored with trivialities and abstractions, so I took a local retail job. Normally it would be way beneath my pay scale, but since I also get commissions I can put both my knowledge of human psychology and technology to work (and the possibility of make a killing in sales: which thus far I have.)

So no more freelance writing, all the writing I do from now on is game design, novel writing and blogging. I still have some projects that are moving along nicely and when the time is right I’ll reveal them on one of my blogs. In the meantime I’ve been working on catching up with several smaller projects….

For example: I’m updating all my old blog posts! Yes that means spell check will be employed this time. I’m also removing some stuff that might be considered offensive and stuff that is too personal for other people. In all honestly I never actually thought I’d write in the blog and consequently didn’t put any effort into it. I still “really” don’t pour my effort into it. But at least I’m more… considerate now. In the future I think I'll write more consistantly as I have more creative energy to expend.

For those who have asked: The novel and module are on hiatus until I finish the first project on my list: The re-write of my setting sourcebook. To me nothing is more important to effective storytelling then milleu and back-story. I felt that without a more complete sense of the world my characters lived in I couldn’t write the kind of story I had planned for.

The last piece of news is we adopted a new kitten named Warren; although his breed is Russian Blue he has kind of a light gray color. He’s playful but still learning that mountain dew is for people and toes shouldn’t be bitten. I have to admit I find his playful and loving personality quite refreshing. Once you have earned an animal’s trust it gives its love completely and without hesitation. It’s also truly great bonus that he is named after Warren Moons of Ogre Battle fame; and it really suits him with the gray wizened look and all.

More tomorrow; ciao.

Hormones and Chi

There is a forgotten art to the control of the mind and body.
I started like many did in my youth; I read a book about Harry Houdini that documented his ability to control his breathing and tolerance. A little known fact is that Houdini was terrified of water and considered it a personal challenge to publicly conquer his fear.
I had modest talent in that area, no. My expertise was pain and metabolic control.
I can think of a dozen examples when I have performed under extreme pain, oftentimes to my medical detriment, mostly as an oldschool dumb-as-rocks way of trying to prove myself.

Migraines are not pain in the sense I have dealt with in the past. Willpower does not make a migraine go away, meditation and diet change have very minimal results. I can see them coming but I can do nothing to stop them or cure them why then arrive.
So I commited myself to research until I could find some kind of answer.

I searched a variety of medical papers, a few mainstream articles and generally made a nerd of myself in the area. One of the things I noticed was a pronounced connection in many papers to hormones. It appears that migraines are indeed linked to hormonal imbalances (like many neurological problems.).
This reminded me of a paper I read several years back about the connection between the Taoist concept of “chi” and the daily hormonal cycle.

It was interesting but inconclusive, the Taoist “hotpoints” in the day coincided with peaks in hormone levels. Diet, meditation and tai chi also had very visible impacts on hormone levels. The theory of the paper was that the entire concept of “chi” or energy was merely the subtle control of hormones.
I rejected the thesis of the paper, one because it had no proof and two because science cannot proof faith. I have seen and felt energy in ways that it is beyond science to explain. But I admit the meat of the paper was compelling enough to remember all these years later.

Lets say your energy affects your body. Hormone levels would be one affected area. It might be possible with experimentation to control the hormones enough to prevent or even cure the migraines. It even explains the depression and mood swings that follow and precede each migraine attack.

Like many Taoists who practice consistently I have some degree of control over my bodies energy. I can’t snuff out candles with my fingertips or choke snide officers from another galaxy but I can profoundly change my body. I can metabolize faster, I can exceed my physical limits, and I can transcend pain and fatigue. Maybe I can control my hormone levels too.

I cannot with words describe how tired I am of being sick. I am literally completely disgusted by it. I want to sleep 8 hours without horrible mindbreaking nightmares. I want to close my eyes and not have those nightmares haunt my waking sight. I want to go to work and drive my car and go out and have fun like everyone else. Instead I am trapped inside avoiding the sunlight like a bug under a rock. I have changed so much in the last few years. But the core of who I am has stayed the same, my beliefs have been scorched by doubt and insecurity and neglect but they survived. My friendships have endured incredible stress and I have lost many of the things and people I loved.

It is for those last remaining; precious things that I have to commit myself to this.

One Hit KO

Several people have commented on the lack of activity. I feel I should explain the situation and remedy it as quickly as possible.

Two weeks ago I started getting headaches. Not minor headaches. Full-blown migraines.
My entire life I’ve rarely ever gotten headaches, and never migraines. I took some painkillers and went back to my day. Later that night I attended a LAN party and nearly passed out. Since then I have been in a cycle of slowly rising headaches followed by crippling migraines. As I have no health insurance and significant debt from my previous health problems I cannot see a doctor.

For me the migraine is perhaps the ultimate and most potent enemy. Years back when I was stronger I could simply will away a minor headache or shut down pain completely in an injured limb. It was one of a variety of interesting abilities I picked up in my life. Another was the ability to control my heart rate, body temp, breathing and metabolism.
Such gifts are wonderful and incredibly useful in many situations. They are however just that: Gifts.

They are gifts that require a certain outlook on life, they require a strong spirit and a soul free of artificial evils (I.E. Greed, lust, sloth. Etc). I became unworthy of them when I slipped into a selfish and ultimately self-damaging path. It requires an unconventional combination of perfectionist and zen guru to avoid excesses and focus on goals and self improvement.

At the LAN party I was playing Warcraft 3 when my migraine struck so fiercely that I nearly passed out. Warcraft 3 isn’t a regular game to me; I’m a champion at it. Literally.
I was playing my best race, with my beat hero on a map I knew very well.
The harder I would focus the more intense the migraine became. I was ambushed, pincer-ed and destroyed. It was by the barest of margins that I slipped my workers away and rebuilt.

My teammate was dead, my base was destroyed and my two heroes were level 4 and 3. My enemies (people I taught to play, so hardly weak) had 7 heroes over level 6 between the 4 of them. Each skirmish, each calculation turned the screws again until my body began to convulse. This would be where most people give up. But I kept building, kept scouting and kept planning.

Finally my chance arrived, In a spectacular battle I killed 5 enemy heroes, 2 full armies and the bases they were guarding. If I had been at full health it would’ve been an impossible feat. But with my arms violently shaking and my eyes filled with searing pain it surpassed anything within human capacity. I won that incredible but meaningless victory. Shortly afterwards the pain forced me to collapse.

The reason migraines are so awful is they get worse when you concentrate. The intense mental focus required for RTS games is one example of something not wise to do under a migraine attack. The harder I pushed myself the worse the migraine became. It might seem silly that I endured so much pain because of a game. But I feel that if anything is worth doing it is worth doing well. You should never quit something you love and you should never give up.

The gift to surpass your human limits, even for a short time is one that I lost from my own folly. It seems a tad unusual but I was able, for that one battle to surpass my limits in every way. I have freed myself from that terrible and haunting pain by the strength of my own spirit.

Up to this point I haven’t been able to write very well, but I am slowly learning to understand and control the headaches enough that I can resume a normal work and play.If I am right, willpower and soul are enough to overcome anything. Anything.

Forgiveness

I’ve come down off the roller coaster of the last few weeks very successfully.
Since I am only now getting back to the work I love (and hate) I have had a lot of time to think and meditate on what path I walk now.

Some people have misunderstood my earlier blogpost relating to death. I did not in fact try to kill myself; rather I didn’t particularly want to stay alive. My body had maxed out on pain and I simply wanted to move on. It was a peaceful almost serene feeling. I didn’t feel bad about the things left undone, or the people I would leave behind. I felt completely detached from everything in the world.

Reality has such gravity to me after that. Everything seems more real then it was before. Colors are more vibrant and sharp; food has more taste and aroma. The unworldliness I brushed upon changed me in ways I didn’t notice immediately.

The second thing I noticed was an argument I had online just recently. I asserted that anyone who neglected spirituality was broken as a human being. I debated with great fervor the existence of god and of deeper spiritual meaning. While I’ve long believed in god and of deeper spiritual meaning, I never forcefully asserted it to a non-believer. I felt oddly compelled to do so in this case.

It feels like the experience has allowed me to grow spiritually in ways I hadn’t realized or expected. While emotionally I feel disconnected still, spiritually I feel calm and fulfilled.
If I am becoming something else I am doing so at without my perception. My thoughts and feelings appear the same, yet I am most certainly not the same person I was months ago. The rush of thoughts on the matter overwhelmed me and it is only now I can speak of them with clarity.

I started to work out again, I’ve started to meditate and practice my Qigong again. My body is slowly forgetting the terrible pain it has endured. I feel oddly alive to stretch my legs and run again. I appreciate the beauty of the trees and stars once more. It took death to fully understand that I was taking life for granted. I don’t think I will ever hate the sensation of a good midnight run.

I cannot be free of all burdens however. Some weigh upon me so heavily that I feel compelled to struggle and free myself. One is forgiveness.

It can be said that I have great emotional endurance, that I can withstand incredible amounts of punishment before I finally yield. That endurance was pushed to it’s limited and broken over a year ago when I first became ill. Since then I have had limited emotional strength in my life. It was not one cut, but a hundred biting stinging wounds that bled me of my strength.

When you hold in hurt and anger it consumes you like a fire. Repressed feelings become deviant and unhealthy… sometimes they lead to obsession, apathy or deeper more unsettling deviance. In the past I sought forgiveness and to mend the small wounds. When you do not keep attending to them the wounds reopen and bleed anew. They are not given a full chance to heal. Many of those wounds now close, I have dozens and dozens left to fix. The hardest ones however are impossible.

Trust and forgiveness are precious and powerful things. I feel that before I move on I must attempt to do as much as possible. In my spirit I feel that I it is somehow vital that I repair all my relationships, from the smallest to the most deepest. Mostly I have been successful, but a few holdouts refuse to talk to me, or are outright hostile. Some of been tricked into believing I am more sinister then I am in truth. Miscommunication and false information have made an unflattering mockery of my true self.

More spiritual? Yes. But my heart still bleeds when it is cut. It is an emptiness to overcome with friendship and love. I am most tired. Perhaps I’ll clear this up tomorrow. Goodnight.

Veiled Threats

I received some criticism after my last blogpost, much of it personal in nature.
It seems some people thought of my honest words as manipulative and my motivations selfish.
For quite a long time I’ve ignored when people attack me, I’ve ignored scathing attacks on both my character and quality of my work. (I can accept the latter but not the former.)
I have even ignored obvious attacks on my personal life, many of which came at the benefit of my rivals. I have come to people with frank honesty and myself been deceived into trust and then betrayed.

This e-mail however was little more then a veiled threat.
The apathy surrounding me in recent months has done nothing to help. Apathy caused by the heartbreak surrounding both my social and spiritual life. I had no real desire to lash out at detractors before. That changed. Whoever this is… and I have my ideas; is going to regret everything he has said.

I do not take well to threats. Even subtle ones.

Still Alive

I apologize for the lack of updates over the past few weeks. It has been a poorly concealed fact that my health has been poor the last few months. Those closest to me have known the truth: That an infection was eating my brain and nervous system. It's been removed and I'll make a full recovery.Earlier I wrote a lengthy description of what happened. Ultimately I decided that a detailed account of my suffering would further no ends. There is only one event that I feel should be told. I had to wait 10 days for my operation.

Around the seventh day the pain, hallucinations, isolation and emotional pain finally took it’s toll on me. My body grew cold and my heart slowed. The life slowly drained from my body. My breathing grew shallow. I knew instinctively that my body was dying. Part of me wanted to let go; I wanted to leave that body filled with pain. But I couldn’t go. People who loved me called me back.
I teetered on the edge for a while. Several times I lapsed into unconsciousness only to be shaken awake again.

I could not in my heart find a reason to live. Over the past two years most of them had disappeared. I ignored the slow destruction of my soul until precious few things matter to me anymore.
But still I could not ignore the pleading of a few who would not let me go.
It is a strange thing to say, but I was not afraid of death. When I was young I feared the certainty of death with such fervor; when I became a Taoist I looked at death as merely the start of a new adventure.

All of these things swirled around in my mind, until I remembered a quote from the Tao Te Ching. “The sage is filled with life so death cannot enter him.”
I had abandoned the fullness of my life. The realization that I had given up before I had finished struck me hard. And so I took the deepest breaths that I could, and I filled my soul with life.

Two days later (and 1 day before I was scheduled) I had my operation.

Given time the scars will heal, the debts will be repaid, the soul will become whole again. I didn’t have a startling epiphany about the true purpose of my life. I received no insight into the universe. Nothing-profound happening to me except one thing: I’m still alive.

I guess I lied when I said I gained nothing profound from my experiences. Everything that I was before, all that I had lost in pain and torment over the past years came pouring back to me. I gained nothing new. Just things I should’ve remembered all along.
For those interested I’m starting two more blogs soon. One will be about my local political work and the other will be an analyzed view of the gaming industry (and other related fields). On top of that I have a professional grade comic and some other stuff coming down the pipes, plus a redesign (and subsequent editing/reformatting) of this blog. I’m not making it a secret. I need to pay off my medical bills.

Mothers Day

When I was young I enjoyed bird watching. I would watch the progress the local bird’s had over time. One evening I noticed the mother of a nest hadn’t returned for a few days. The lone chick made a very shrill lonely sound, as its hunger grew worse. By the end of the next day the baby chick had died. Without it’s mother it never had a chance.

That little bird had quite an effect on me. I too didn’t have a mother bird to nurture me. Of course I had various surrogates that kept me alive… but a surrogate is not a true mother. I felt a strong, tragic connection with that tiny bird. It wasn’t until that point that I understood the power a mother had. She was responsible for the very life of her child and nothing could ever fully replace her.

It’s easy to become a parent. An act of lustful indiscretion can easily result in a child. It’s another thing entirely to be a mother or father. A true mother shapes the life of her children more then anything else. People with selfish hearts do not make good parents; neither do the vain, the star-struck ideologues, the reckless, the violent or the careless.
Children inherent these traits, or rebel against them. They are shaped by the nature of their parents in ways I can only barely fathom or describe. Even the unfit have children; those children have more unfit children. Drug users sire drug users just like intellectuals sire intellectuals. One could theorize that the world will remain in status quo because of this. But more and more… those fit to be parents are unwilling. The brightest of our society choose to have no children because of the time involved. The poorest and least educated have multiple children early in their lives.

Of the best kinds of mothers there is one I hold in highest esteem. I struggled for a better part of a week looking for the exact word to use. But I couldn’t find one. I searched Internet databases and dusty books looking for the exact and perfect word. There wasn’t one. So I will tell you what the ideal parent is. I will tell you what I hope I can be someday, and I will tell you part of who my mother was.

From a strictly medical standpoint I shouldn’t be alive. My mother had a serious heart condition and having a child would, and almost did kill her. Her doctors urged her to abort me to save her life. She discounted them immediately. Even if it meant her life I would be born. I often wonder what thoughts went through her mind before I was born. She knew the risk it posed to her; she knew the risk it posed to me.

My mother herself never knew her real parents. My grandfather a former navy pilot adopted her and brought her to Utah when she was still very young. I now know from various accounts that she had trouble finding adoptive parents because of the nature of her heart problems. Back in those days it was believed she wouldn’t live past her teenage years.

I did a lot of research on my mother’s early life trying to understand her… and myself a little better. She conflicted with my pious grandparents over their church. I have heard many different accounts of her early life. But her own personal accounts speak of constant fighting with my grandfather, anger towards god and a wild almost reckless disregard for her own safety. Although there are no specifics (thankfully, nobody wants to know everything about their parents.) she talked of things she later regretted and coming to grips with her own mortality and beliefs. She emerged from that dark period a strong compassionate woman. People have told me that my mother was the kindest person they ever knew. People I didn’t know would walk up to me and tell me about my mother. It was no surprise she lived her life with intensity and joy. She outlived her doctor’s estimates by years and years. For the time period she lived it would be considered almost a miracle to survive as long as she did.

It was a bitter irony that it was her heart that failed her. I never knew her yet I could feel her kindness when people spoke about her. She was creative and intelligent, and bubbled with the kind of warmth you rarely see anymore.

I often wonder what went through her mind before I was born. I have been told that her love was so fierce it held off death itself. I have come to believe in recent years that my mother had in mind for me to do what she could not. I know She did not want me to replace her; she never had in mind an heir to her life. Yet I often feel that I have become exactly what my mother wanted. I am a writer, I am not held down by oppressive religions or dogmas. I have a clear strong heart and freedom to be whomever I choose.

She survived my birth barely, but it took a lot out of her. Two years and two months later she died. To live as long as she did was nothing short of a miracle. I know now and will forever know that it was her love that kept her alive those years. And each year on mother’s day I leave her flowers to show her that I haven’t forgotten her love or her sacrifice. There is no word appropriate to call a person of that caliber. The only word I know is mom.

Sundering the Light and Dark

Sorry for the lack of activity late, I’ve been pulled in a hundred directions recently and my mood hasn’t been conducive to new writing.

Given a brief glance a person seems so full of contradictions and inconsistencies that it is a wonder we function at all. A caring priest harbors pedophilia, a loving husband and father is an adulterer, a policemen steals or a teacher lies. On the outside we polish out and minimize the inconsistencies. We put forward a solid message about our identity. I am a Taoist; I present that to the world when in truth I frequently doubt if I am what I say I am. I fail to practice my beliefs often and find myself in situations I know I could’ve avoided. We lie to the entire world about what he are, he hide disabilities, weaknesses, feelings, secrets and our true beliefs. The conflict between who we really are and whom we present ourselves as is perhaps one of the greatest and least told.

The illusion and façade is vital, without it we wouldn’t survive. We wrap ourselves in a deep crust of apathy, normalcy, arrogance, religion, pride and status. Even when we speak of things that are true we spin them with an air of drama or feign effortlessness. It is rare now that a person’s heart matches the persona they put forth.

Last week at Virginia Tech a student killed 30 of his classmates. He honed an identity of an outsider and a rebel. He portrayed the world as a cold enemy. Nobody challenged it; nobody confronted him about it. I cannot speak for what was truly in his heart. But when I saw this on TV everyone around me condemned him as a monster, it’s not an unfairly earned label. But the first thing I felt for him was sympathy. A long time ago I felt the same way he did. He became a monster and I didn’t.

We embrace labels and titles. We seek to define ourselves to one another: To craft and hone an image. I know an overwhelming number of people who call themselves “catholic” or “mormon” or “atheist” or “vegan” who do not follow their beliefs and only speak of them when trying to portray themselves as religious or spiritual. The second you make a crack about the pope you awake the indigent catholic in an otherwise un-catholic person.

The labels that we seek to define us are truly nothing more then anchors to mediocrity and sameness. They restrict us to being a specific person and bind us from becoming another different. In essence we impede our own spiritual, social, emotional and physical growth. A martial artist neglects to strengthen his mind, a priest neglects his body, a socialite starves her soul of spiritual nourishment. A single mother once asked me what she should do, she was depressed and lost with her life. I thought about it and told her to go hiking. “Single mothers don’t go hiking.” She told me. It boggles my mind that she wouldn’t go hiking because she didn’t think that’s what single mothers did. She took a negative label (Don’t write hate mail. It’s still a negative label no matter how much I hate it that way.) like single mother and used it to restrict her life. Months later I talked her into hiking with me and she loved it.


I have over time sought to wrap myself in different labels: boyfriend, writer, taoist, gamer, guild-officer, democrat, martial artist, dungeon-master, big brother and warrior.
Each defined me in a different way, before I became a democrat I never thought about social reform in a broader sense. I never felt strongly about freedom and choice. The positive aspect of that label helped me understand new things about myself. But at the same time I turned against beliefs I had held my entire life (Gun Control most obviously).
You make the label and the label makes you. Or worse someone else makes the label and it makes you.

Before you decide to reject labels. Remember you still need them. When I started to become sick my images and self-concept unraveled quickly. I was a helpless warrior, a dungeon-master with no players, and a martial artist with no technique, a Taoist with no soul, a gamer with no skills, a guild-officer without a guild and a writer with no passion.

My karmic punishment was the loss of my self-image, the loss of my abilities and labels.
When I lost the use of my hands I could not play games, I could not grasp my sword or make a fist. The labels that defined me also defined my worth. Without them I felt increasingly useless and distant from my true self.

That is after all what I have been talking about: The true self. We show it to a few special people before we lock it away once more. We harbor doubts in the darkest parts of our soul. It is a dark mirror that reflects light. We seek to eliminate the inconsistencies and contradictions for our outer persona; yet when we examine with honesty we realize that we are filled with both light and darkness. Without both we are incomplete and imbalanced.

Rest Complete

Well I am back. I had a good rest and now I'm ready to roll up the sleeves and get to work.

I know I've said this before; but life has an ebb and flow. It's unescapable really. Sometimes we are drawn into the quiet and reflective, other times we are intensely active. It is in the quiet that I was able to find myself again and refocus on the things I want to accomplish in life. Now for a period of rising intensity culminating in the completion of my first novel.

Sometimes life does read like a good novel; to reach your goal(s) you have to suffer, persevere, struggle, face disappointment and heartbreak; all strains of adversity. In your typical novel the hero overcomes these challenges and arises from the ashes stronger and wiser. All too often in life we are knocked down never to stand again. We put ourselves in a routine and refuse deviance from it. We eat at the same places, talk to the same people, say the same prayers and watch the same shows. Life is far from the mundane that people paint it as!
Watch an old western instead of the daily show, eat mexican instead of chinese food, pray for your cat instead of your mom and talk to the single mom at the laundromat.

Life is too short to waste. Now if you will excuse me I have some writing to do. :)
For those asking I'll put up the rest of the Lifesource project when it's done. lol

Lifesource Project Part 1

Of all the projects a writer can embark on: one of the most profound and far reaching is the exploration of both himself and the human condition. It is by understanding themselves that many of the greatest minds of humanity have reached their conclusions. I frequently explore here my dreams: both the lucid and the raw. I have spoke about the connection I feel towards the source of all. I even spoke of my depression and sadness in the wake of intense illness. It is rare however that I speak about my hopes and ideals. Even more rare that I speak of the principals that guide my life.

Originally this project was to be secret. It would be guidelines for my own personal use. Not strict rules but rather guidelines and advice seasoned with both my own wisdom and the wisdom I have gleaned from others. The secrecy was so no rival could exploit it to undo me.
As I change these thoughts to words I was struck with the realization that no rival could exploit this against me. There is no weakness to acting honestly and with a full heart. So here is the first half of the first draft. All the words are my own. Similarities to the work of others is entirely possible but not intentional.



The soul is meant to be full of the light of joy and darkness of sorrow. We should never deny either; nor should we avoid joy and seek sorrow.

Act according to whom you are. Do not pretend. Do not lie. Do not strive beyond your means. Do not allow things that are evil to enter your heart; do not let others change you.

If you can say something better with three words then two: you should do so.

There is no justice in revenge and little satisfaction in justice.

Do not force your will on others.

Love as much as you can. Love your friends. Love your family. Love your wife/girlfriend and love yourself.

An action that preserves harmony and balance is better then an action that is futile or vain.

Lie only to your enemies: and only if you have no recourse.

Lie to your friends to deceive your enemies. But do so only with the utmost regret and gravity. Let there be no other recourse; also give apology for your deception.

Experience and memory define us. The content of our thoughts is less important then how we choose to act on them. That is akin to saying oxygen is more important then trees.

To an enemy, rival or opponent ruthlessness is not only condoned but also necessary.

When a battle is worth winning you should use all tools within your disposal to accomplish that.

Defeat does not diminish your honor: when you strive to your utmost and uphold your principals you not only retain honor but also strengthen it.

Do not fall prey to sympathy ploys or charity. True charity is not given out of guilt or the machinations of the weak.

Guilt is a tool of the weak. A warrior uses the passion of his beliefs and the persuasiveness of their words.

Fight for what you believe in.

Do not silence your critics.

When a man is both your friend and enemy: treat him as both.
Give him no mercy. But instead respect him by using your abilities at their utmost.

Never deny your feelings. Never hide your feelings. Do not allow others to use your feelings as a weapon.

Honor, dignity and respect are ideals worthy of practice and reverence.

Live life to it’s fullest: from the minute to the profound.

Always grant forgiveness when you are asked for it. But be wary of giving away your trust.

If you act with uncertainty you will falter. If you act without flexibility you will snap. If you lie and use cunning your words will become a heavy burden.

Take all things in moderation; even moderation itself.

Do not become blinded by love or hate. If you must act do so with open eyes.

Persistence is the key to success. Success is one path to explore the self.

Never relinquish hope. Never dilute yourself into overreaching mistakes.

Sometimes you walk your path alone. Sometimes you walk it with a friend. But when your friend’s path breaks with yours it is foolish to follow.

Like smoldering flames the tension of hate, distrust, pain and fear will become worse if unattended.

There is nothing more precious to give then yourself. There is nothing more precious to lose. Nothing more precious to have attacked.

A fool is a man who ignores his own heart.

If an enemy is beyond redemption his only mercy is complete defeat. Take away his will to cause harm. Take away his ability to fight. Seize the dark from his heart and leave only fear.

Forgive an insult once. Correct it a second time. The third insult does not go unanswered.


I would like to thank everyone who has served to inspire me and test my mettle. Even the spite and fire of my enemies has not been wasted; I do however feel that thanking my enemies and rivals is too much. Thanks to those who allowed me to use them as target dummies for the past week. I have had many masters, many teachers and many rivals. Each has taught me something I could not learn on my own. Someday the wisdom I have accumulated will be passed down to my students and children. With luck they can avoid some of the mistakes I made (While making brand new mistakes of their own lol.)

When one strives and struggles he sometimes forgets to give his soul respite. I will finish the second half of this when I have finished resting my spirit and soul.
How does one rest the spirit and the soul?
That children is easy: You must feed it. Like the body it requires nourishment.
How do you feed the soul? With meditation and thoughtful reflection. With the warmth of friendship and the beauty of nature.

Where has all the writing gone...

Since people have asked where all the thoughful articulate writing as gone I feel I owe an explanation.

IT'S NOT GONE.

I do alot of writing. The more serious writing I do in other areas the less I want/can write seriously in the blog. My capacity for work doesn't expand quite that far yet. If I can't write serious words about serious topics I will instead give you fluff. Fluff that pertains to my emtional and psychological state of mind. (Usually between crazy and idealistic.)
It also serves a double use of helping me deal with issues going on in my life. I'll see what I can do about getting something more interesting up this weekend.

Also. My birthday party is Saturday. If you know me personally and haven't been invited consider this your invitation. It's at 5:30 and lasts until we collapse. (Sometime around 3:00 or 4:00 AM the next day methinks.)

Phantom Dreams

I dream often. Especially in times of emotional stress. Usually I remember my dreams with clarity and can apply lucid dreaming to them. Last night I had a nightmare that I can only barely remember and it was far beyond my control. Like a bright flash it stunned me out of technique or memory. I have read deeply into both the theory and science of dreams, I have also read a variety of supernatural, mystical and new age writings on the topic of dreams. Never have I read anything about a perfect recall technique. (Some proof exists that hypnosis is effective in this regard.) Because of the nature of this dream it nags me what it means. I want to delve deeper into it's nature and try and understand my own feelings. I thought perhaps to try to meditate and try to release the dreams but after consideration I felt the possibility of "false memories" was too strong. The bits I remember are quite clear and I'll relate them with the names omitted.

I stood outside a clean and well kept morman church. It's fairly dark and their are various people milling around outside. Several of them I know personally.
Out of the corner of my eye I see two friends of mine who have recently started dating wander into the church. (People who have read my previous dream entries will know them better as the icy maiden and the conflicted assasin. Both of which have been a source of anxiety for me recently.)
I follow them into the church which is about as dark as it was outside. It's clean inside and the red carpet seems somehow darker and more threatening then it should otherwise.
The hallways twist and turn and over time it starts to become rougher and rougher until the walls turn into hewn rock. The ceiling and walls become dungeonlike and the carpet remains an ominous red. I come across an ordinary wooden door. I turn the handle but it's locked.
I feel something clawing at my leg. I look down but there is nothing there. Looking down the carpet appears almost liquid, I kneel down and put my hand into it. It's thick like latex paint but when I pull my hand back out it's clean. Slowly my feet are slidding into it. Then my legs. Behind the door I hear screaming. The voice is male but twisted somehow, tortured almost.

After this point I no longer have a clear idea of what happened in the dream. I do remember being chased by a taut skinned ghostly man with glowing green eyes. I remember desperately beating against the sides of a church door trying to get out, The doors are all shut against me keeping me trap inside. Everyone I come across is twisted. Their bodies are elongated and twisted in strange ways. They don't speak but instead stagger aimlessly.
I remember flashes of faces in anguish and pain. The faces taunt me with their familarity but it is no person I know. When I awoke I was terrified, It took some time for me to understand I wasn't being persued by monsters.

Lucid dreaming is best accomplished when you challenge reality. When your awake you should challenge reality, when your asleep you should do the same. If your dreaming you will realize it and your willpower shall awaken. In this dream I didn't challenge reality. I accepted the nightmare without question and was lead deeper and deeper into it. Mundane as it appears I take it very seriously: One should always know reality from fantasy (or dream.). What enables such effortless lucid dreaming is that I constantly and consciously attack reality... that is the first thing that bothers me about this dream.

The second thing is more symbolic. I was lead into that wreteched place. I followed without first thinking about it. If you choose to read deeper into it the church could represent organized religion as a whole (Which I detest on moral grounds); furthermore it could reflect my fears of unwilling or guilted conversion. On an emotional level it could be repressed feelings towards my two friends. The background of a tormented and haunted church would be fitting to such a dream. Being lead into a place of torment by people you consider your friends is appropriate symbolism, but I have to wonder if that is it. It seems too simple. A great spiritualist once told me "In a meaningful life nothing is accidental, in a meaningful life everything is an opportunity."
Well. I'm looking for the opportunity but it seems pretty much open and shut to me.

She hurt me, he enabled it and I already distrust their shared beliefs... things I already knew. The impetus to act doesn't and will not exist; No dream will change that. If the dream possesses a larger meaning then it is lost on me. Tonight I will dream of frolicing nymphs, meadows of green and azure rivers. They will be dreams of my choosing and to my liking.
I do not need false lights to distract me from my path. I do not need the heartless to trample my feelings. Nor do I need the callous and cold to tell me that I am wrong in my path.
Goodnight all.

Two Dreams and a thoughtful wtf

In the course of a life you experience moments of spiritual and religious awakening. Moments of precisence that allow you to awaken for a moment to the possibilities of the universe beyond what you are at that second. Each should be prized, cherished, reflected upon and measured. One should also share in that wisdom and insight, So here are 3 events that taken apart don't mean much. When you take them together it reveals a different insight into both my mind and what I am beginning to see as the truth of the world.


Event One:

I had a dream last night. This is the first lucid dream I've had in two weeks.
I was walking along a beach with several shallow sandbars in the water beside me. I sat in the sand and watched the water flow in and out of the narrow passages such.
It takes me some time to realize I am asleep because I am sick and not feeling well. Also my emotional energy has been taxed as of late. I watch the water and feel calm and peaceful.
Farther down the beach I see someone walking toward me, it occurs to me that he is Serros the grey elf Knight in my novel. (Keep in mind if it wasn't Serros before he became Serros when I thought that. I'm not sure what kind of Kantian stunt I pulled there.) Since nobody alive has read my novel I'll tell you what Serros looks like. His skin, eyes and clothes are a smooty almost rocklike grey. His hair is a lighter shade of grey and he wears a suit of loose fitting chainmail over his generic brown tunic and trousers. He carries a runed longsword and Runed Armlets on each arm. The hair on his left is drawn into a ponytail that falls over his left shoulder and the hair on his right is shorter and unkempt.

Serros walks byside me and sits. Together we both stare out into the sea. Creator and creation.
I never had a voice for Serros in my head. But I do now. His voice is forceful, measured and somehow soothing... like he speaks of things as certain. He is a man who knows his destiny and isn't afraid of it. He tells me about the properties of the water and the geography of this land. (Sea of Mud on the western side of the ithamus of Solthus. South of the starting point of my second adventure series... for those curious.) I ask him about the battles he fought and the people he knew. I knew the answers of course. I wrote them. After awhile I stopped and just looked out at the sea again. After some time he pulled out his sword and laid it on the sand.
I never named the sword. I don't think I will now actually. But in my mind it has always been etched with spidery elven runes. It felt cold in my hands when I touched it. Cold and wet.

"It's a beautiful dream to see this firsthand" I told him.
"Are you certain it's a dream?" he asked me.
"I am. When I awake it will disappear." I replied to him sadly.
"And when you die will that disappear too?"
I was stunned by his arguement for a moment. It was true that when I died there would be no proof reality would exist for me anymore. I may believe in an afterlife and extended reality but my perception has no proof.
"Then the dream is real?" I switched positions on him. Something in me sought to look deeper.
"It's real right now, and when you write it becomes real to those who read it. You create reality when you change perception of reality." Serros replied it with ease.
"Then why wake up? Why not stay in this dream forever?" I taunted him now. He was after all my creation and dwelling within my mind.
"Why not indeed. Your not awake in either reality. Your mind and spirit are elsewhere. You live a life of distraction." A creation of my imagination told me in a dream that I was asleeep. Whats more he told me that I was distracted when I was awake. This ranks on odd things that have happened to me.

I shifted uncomfortably in the wet sand.
"I'm distracted?" I finally replied with a dash of uncertainty.
"When you wander off the path so much it is bound to happen." he challenged me again.
I fidgeted around the sand alittle. I knew what he was saying. It's words were not the words of Serros the knight but my words in his mouth. I started to draw in the sand now. I drew little rivers and lakes with my finger and watched the water fill them first... then overfill and splash against my feet.

"When I battle myself there are no winners, only the constant weakening of my very soul."
I do not know which of us said it. But I remember it from my journal when I was in Detroit I wrote it.
"You made us and in turn we make you. Creation as an act is perfect in it's symmentry."
I watched the water more closely now.
"There are no fish in this sea." It wasn't a question but a statement.
"No. You didn't make any." My creation replied.
"It makes me appreciate the attention to detail god possesses." I countered him.
I had hoped for a response but he had none. I suppose I didn't have a response either.
There was one more thing I had to know.

"When I come to my dreams I fight a dark man. I have fought him my entire life. Who is he?"
Serros did not answer right away. Red began to pour onto the beach and over us. The sun began it's slow descent behind the mountains of the far away barrierlands.
"He is what you say. A dark man."
"Listen..." I began to lecture; but when I turned to point his eyes were filled with resolve.
"You faced your waking nightmare and won. He only has power in your dreams now."
I think at this point I started to cry alittle. I'm not certain.
I realized then that my dreams were nothing more then a memory given form. Serros did not exist and neither did the Dark Man. Both existed within my mind, this is what he wanted to show me. (Which in some twisted way I was trying to show myself.)

"Distracted?" I asked once more. Certain that our time was running short.
"The children of Genna are called Shadowlanders. They exist only to destroy and return the universe to the void." He sounded more like Serros now. The Knight who swore vengence against them...
"I made them... like that." I didn't understand the endgame. At this point I was lost.
"They are men of shadow. Creatures of your nightmares. They mimic life to destroy it."
I still didn't understand his point.
"Fight them, you have fought them before."

At this point I start to wake slightly. I can hear my birds in the other room calling. I'm so tired and fevered that I huddle in my blankets and return to my crazed half-dream.


Event Two:

The walls of Brenntor exist perfectly in my minds eye. The elaborate sluice at the top of mount Brial and the twisting magestic white marble walls guarding the city. It is here that Serros lays down his life to avenge his race. At the walls he cries in elven: "This day I come for you. Men of Shadow. Children of Genna. Twisted Souls who seek the peace of death." He raises his sword in the air and opens all the gates of the city. The shadowlanders pour into the first two lines. The walls stand firmly as black creatures of all shapes and sizes skitter, crawl, ooze and climb them. With a signal Serros lets loose the water flushing out the first wave of attackers. The water burning their bodies like acid. The first row of knights opens and riders pour out like the sluices water... the shadowlanders are forced back. and the battle for the city begins.

A have played out this battle a hundred different ways. With different commanders, different armies defending it, different types of shadowlanders attacking and vastly different tactics. It is my own personal mind game. It's useful because you have to remember a shadowlander is much stronger then a human, if he kills you then there is a chance you become a shadowlander too.
They are resistant to magic and weapons not of high quality. The more powerful shadowlanders can fly, control the weather, shapeshift, burrow, consume the souls of the departed, cloak themselves in darkness and rain down putrid death. For every defense there is a counter. For every counter there is a new defense. It starts a cycle that never ends.

In my dream I watched the walls with an almost idle curosity. The sluice was deployed too early and Knights of Brenntor don't use calvery. Furthermore a calvery attack is suicide because most shadowlanders are too fast to be caught in it. They are wall fighters and they misused their advantage at the start. The shadowlanders countered hard; the horsebound knights were thrown and trampled under the blackened horde.

"Serros! That was a vanity attack. Pull your men into a defensive formation." I called to the knights leader.
He signaled roughly to his men who pulled themselves in a more effective triangle formation just as the wave of black formless bodies struck. They poured to each side of the triangle and were divided.
"Serros! Tell them to charge. You can split them.!"
Serros did not hear or heed my call. He stood in the enter of his men watching the enemy struggle with his front ranks.
"Serros!" I called him over and over.
The knights unity began to breakdown. They fell into small units and engaged skirmish tactics. The towers began to rain arrows down onto the battlefield. Serros and his core of knights advanced on the horde. I watched from the wall as he waded into a hopeless battle.

For a brief second I saw him on the beach with the sunset spilling down on him.
"Why!" I called out to him.
He drew his sword and charged strait into the writhing mass of darkness. He didn't flinch or waiver as the shadows overcame him.
I felt an anguish fill me. I drew my sword smoothly. Perfectly. Like water rolling across a beach. It was not raging river (Which would've been more appropriate. but whatever. I can't ask for perfection from a dream) but Gaki Yuki; my katana that I actually own.
The small units held by the wall, the arrows slowed the dark hordes awful advance.

"Rally!" I called to the men-at-arms.
The knights milled about confused. A few stragglers fell before the incoming horde.
I raised my sword high above my head. A technique that is both amazingly stupid and symbolic.
"RALLY!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The knights close to me ran to my side, more and more saw this and ran to me.
"Hold this door." I pointed to the portculis behind me.
The horde grew closer. My instinct was to do as Serros had and charge them.
I felt bloodlust in my arms, I yearned to battle them.
"FIGHT!" I screamed at the top of my lungs once more. My sword slid down into a standard fighting style. The horde charged into us but faltered. I slashed at them with unnatural ferocity. After a minute I realized we were being pushed backwards.
I didn't issue any orders, nor did I speak. But the door behind us opened and we fell back into it.

(Also of note Holley tried to wake me and almost got punched. Right about here.)
The dream followed this line of thought for awhile. Until I awoke confused, wracked with fever and ill.

Event 3: "aka the thoughtful WTF"

Following the rather disturbing events of the night I decide to delve into the truth of the matter.
I sat and thought deeply and thoughtful about the events of the night previous.

For starters. Serros charged because of his emotions not because of his sense of logic or leadership. It was a stupid move that felt right. It satisfied his need for revenge but didn't accomplish anything. That is something I myself am more then guilty of especially in recent weeks.

The shadowlanders are extensions of the dark man. The dark man is my nightmare. He is the reality that I fear when I am awake or asleep. I fight him over and over in my dreams but he returns. He returns because I need him to return. I need to fight him. Just like I need to fight the battle of Brenntor over and over again. It is my expression of a nightmare that lingers just behind the fringe of my conscious mind.

My nightmare began a reality when I became sick. Almost magically I managed to defeat both the dark man and the infection/pain. The link between the two existed (Either because I imagined it or because it was so.) and when one was defeated the other fell as well. Now a memory it haunts me as only a memory can.

Serros is one of my overlooked characters, I have never used him in roleplaying. He doesn't have an extensive backstory or history. Aside from his plot value in setting up the first and second novel of my series I don't have a reason for him to exist. Yet when my dreams try to tell me something they send Serros. Why I am not entirely certain.

He is right. I have been sleeping awake. Distracted like when one goes to the dentist. You think about everything except the the dentist to take your mind away from the pain and discomfort.
Life is full of pain and discomfort but it isn't a trip to the dentist. I feel like there is a fog that has hung over me. It isn't gone but I am aware of it now. It cannot last long.

Some people have perceived that who I am is defined that shadow man. They define me by the nightmare I fought and the measures I took when I stood against it. Perhaps it was a despertate fatalistic push that put me in this mindset. But I am not a monster, I have looked into the void and into the darkness. I felt the tug on my soul and the desire to give in. To become what everyone thought I was already. A liar. Cruel, manupliative, hollow and vain. I did not walk away unscathed and I did not walk away with a happy disposition. But I did walk away.

Most of the people I hurt and the relationships I destroyed have been repaired. There are holdouts that I can do nothing about. There are situations that plagued me because I was uncertain of my course and path. My emotional and spiritual health is improving by leaps and bounds. It is a mixed bag and an exciting and difficult challenge for me: The last of this dark chapter of my life. When I finish writing it I wonder... will the next chapter be one of despair? Will it be filled with even greater suffering? Will it be filled with the challenge of love? The challenge of new enemies? New rivals? Will I finally uncover the deeper meaning that my life hints at? Perhaps like all good stories it will have many elements: A dark tale of love and heroism ending in tragic loss of the hero.

I'm actually kind of tired of that story. I'm sort of itching for a happily ever after. I want the hero to live and thrive. I want him to charge to the aid of another instead of fending off his own crushing problems. I guess one of the measures of a true storyteller is if he can tell different kinds of stories. I hope I can.

"Whats next"

If you complete a task that was twice your ability: Do you because twice a person?
Are we measured by our works and our accomplishments alone? Or perhaps our intentions and methods are weighed alongside them. There is no clear judge of a persons actions. A pious man may be that way out of fear and ignorance and not because of his experiences and knowledge.

I've thought alot about this today. I wonder if we are even being judged at all. God really can't keep score (Unless your a calvinist. In which case I'm sorry...) can he? Hundreds of years ago the debate of faith vs works became a hotly debated issue. To me it's an issue of what kind of god do you believe in. Do you believe god is an ass or an all powerful father?

Some people have asked what has bothered me the last few days. Because I did promise to leave the details of my life out of the blog I'll word this as carefully as I can.

I got my ass handed to me.

Yeah I got beat. Wasted, hosed, pwned, made into a bitch, screwed and stomped.
I had good intentions but quickly learned that nobody cares what your intentions are. Nobody cares if you act in their interest. If you act for the benefit of others it must be a ploy or a ruse. Mistrust was my undoing and I know for the future to guard my good intentions more closely.
I am no stranger to pain and failure; this is one more notch on the belt of life. My life is on the cusp of a new chapter, new challenges await me and laying flat on my back isn't getting me ready. So I take this pain and this failure and I use it. To make me stronger and more prepared.
The way I feel right this second has a perfect line to describe it. It comes from the west wing and I feel it appropriate to end this post with.

"Whats next?"

Allegory or hallucination?

There is a spiritual place where a mind goes after a terrible storm.

I went there today, After the storm battered my spirit and wore my emotions raw.

I thought that honesty and tenacity could overcome anything. But I should've known the storm would wear away at my resolve. At moments I clung hopeless as I was battered. Sometimes I lashed out with anger at terrible and uncontrollable events that lead me here. Anger, resolve, love, honesty even faith did not matter. The storm was impossible to fathom and it was impossible to survive. Those who think they can control a storm are beyond naive. You have no power outside your own.

The storm tore away my resolve until I clung with little more then a feeble dream. It dashed me against the rocks again and again. Thunder. Lightning. Waves. Unbearable cold.
It ate away at me until I finally released and slid into quiet but not complete defeat.
My spirit was damp but not destroyed. It did not burn away my soul like it did my desire. But uncovered a new strength. The passion left my body but did not leave my soul.



There are some situations in which you cannot win, no matter how well you fight or play. No matter how honest or pure your intentions. There are times that you will fail through no fault of your own. It is quite honestly the worst feeling in the world. Worse then debilitating mental illness, worse then spiritual emptiness, worse then the agony of a dying body and certainly worse then the loss of unrequitted love. It is doing your best and still failing and of all the things I mentioned it is the one that burdens me most.

In that spiritual place I fell into a deep contemplation. Where was god in this? Did he watch me from afar? Did he cheer me on? Did he await with sadness the eventual sadness I would face in defeat? No god was with me; he stood beside me in a way only he could. Only he could know the power and purity of my thoughts and intentions yet I didn't want him there before. I didn't want the tao. The infinite source of good wasn't with me. But they were with me now, when my spirit was all the remained of me; When my emotions were so drained and raw that I only felt the numbness of a frail and hurting body pushed beyond it's breaking point.

God was here with me. The Tao. Whatever you call it. I did not feel the sting of the failure. or the burning of my overworked body. I felt the peace of one who has given his all and can go on no longer. I have faced enemies in martial arts, I have faced enemies in competitive gaming and I have faced enemies on fields not seen or known to the average mind and eye. Never have I fight to the point where I could fight no longer, always I turn back before the final blow, I spare myself the coup de tat so that I can fight another day and preserve my dignity and honor.

I did not these past few days. Now in the pain of failure I feel the arms of something greater trying to push me back up. Lifting me because I no longer have the strength to carry myself.
There has to be a word for something this wonderful. Yes. It is love. It is faith.

It is not in my nature to give up until defeat is certain. It is something that I know and feel is right and I will persue it until my defeat is complete or I reach a measure of success and put to rest my own feelings. Tonight something beyond me watches out for me, I am in the womb, the cradle, the arms of eternity. I can think of no more comforting thing to someone who risked everything and lost. I will be renewed, I will get back up and I will finish what I started.

I am however in no condition to do anything. Now I rest.

May whatever god you follow cast his blessings on you.