The Lonely Battlefield

This is a blogpost I have long dreaded. Had I known the circumstances that I am involved in now I would've done this a long time ago. I have long believed in keeping my life an open book, I keep no secrets; my openness is the perfect defense. People have no interest in uncovering things left in the open; as a consquence only a handful of people (outside those who do not know) have asked about the events of over a year ago that lead to my brief state of mental illness.

To make this complicated I'm not going to use any names, or cite specific events. Also the order could be slightly off as my memory of some things is second hand or extremely hazy.

The sequence of events is coming to me slowly. But the first event I remember clearly is one I have told no one about. I was at work at the hospital and occasionally I would be moved from parking services to actual security work. Generally this involved me being stern to sick and elderly people... something not entirely in my nature. But I remember very clearly a moment of glee during this work that otherwise disturbed me to do. It was the the first sign of a growing problem.

You see I've been branded something of an anti-hero by people who know me. I am willing to do good but more then willing to play dirty or bend rules to accomplish it. When I worked I put on a facade of happiness, but in my personal life I was anything but happy. A handful of things made me happy and as time went on I started getting darker and darker. Some of my beliefs degraded into superstition and others were cut down more then that. It happened so slowly that I didn't notice it. My facade was there but inside me something was eating away at my soul.
My first true awareness came during my trip to Vegas. I spent alot of time thinking on the trip (Not much else to do) and an even greater amount talking. I gained an awareness that something inside me was in dissent.

During that trip I slept very little except for one night, it was in fact the first night I had ever drank heavy in my life. We hit several clubs and bars that night. Up until this point I had only had sake on my 21st birthday; I feared becoming like my father and shunned alot of things for it. Needless to say whatever was inside me broke free for a short time; many hours later I could barely be dragged back to the hotel. I poured alot of reflection inwards and tried to understand everything that was going on. My conclusion at that time was that if I were careful about it drinking could be a useful way to relax and promote creativity. The darker problems however just hovered outside of my attention.

Between this and my new york trip not much happened on this topic. I slowly became more and more aware of it. But to me it was a small problem and I had something more important on my mind. I also started getting some mild headaches and toothaches. I started taking painkillers of different sorts for it.

Almost immediately after my New York trip things went downhill. I started to hallucinate things that were clearly not real; most of which were deeply disturbing. I would have moments of startling clarity followed by bouts of incredible pain. I started to have memory blackouts and had problems controlling my anger. At first I didn't know how to respond. I tried to hide it and distance myself from people. A few saw something was wrong right away. Most however didn't notice anything was wrong until much later. It didn't take long before my anger and violent behavior was plain to see for most everyone to see. It had a serious and adverse effect on my job performance which was clearly noted by my coworkers and bosses. I was sent off away from people to do unplesant jobs in isolation. It was there that I realized I was starting to hurt people around me. This caused me to make the first mistake: isolate myself.

I did isolate myself emotionally and I put my efforts into fixing this problem inside me. It didn't however work out. Instead of being me I felt like more and more I was being pushed into the passenger seat. I would lose control for a few moments and then be myself again. It was depressing and terrifying at the same time. It was bad for awhile, but with time I was able to manage the pain and pushed myself to a point where I felt safe in society. I tried to contact my girlfriend only to discover that my isolation and painful lashing out had caused her to move on. In my eyes this was cheated and it hurt me deeply. Reeling from the pain of this event I made an even more stupid move. There was another girl whom I had deep feelings for. We were friends and I was in a position of trust. It was in the pain of those two cratered relationships that I truly descended into madness.

Days later I had a complete meltdown, In my despair I was ready to give up on world. The evil that hid in the corners of my reality started to assert control. It was in that final terrifying moment that I realized I was becoming this monster. It was with these last few minutes of clarity and control that I attempted to kill myself; I knew the terrible things I would do to those I loved and I couldn't bear to let it happen. One person hadn't given up on me, in those final moments before I lost it she talked me out of killing myself. For it she paid a terrible price as my first victim.

I have been asked what it felt like. Most of the time it was like being alseep and only vaguely aware that you even exist. Sometimes I would kick and scream for air because the darkness was so complete that it felt like it was choking me. Sometimes I aware of the goings on, but it was surreal. Such moments were fleeting and could've easily been a dream. Sometimes I would be called forth violently by a tearful friend only to be choked down again. It was like being sleepy and having no desire to fight. Over time the fracture in my mind started to grow. Varient personalities started to emerge. A bard, a spiritualist, a warrior. Even the evil that beat me down grew fractured and disjointed. The chaos of all those voices only fueled the madness I felt.
The headaches and the pain grew greater and greater over time until no one personality could remain in control for long.

It was the death of my grandfather that caused things to reach a head.
The warrior personality pulled everything together, along with some help from an unexpected source. Aside from some dissent and immense physical pain I was fine. One night on a date I bite into some Chow Mein and a tooth which had rotted on the inside caved in. The pain was staggering and I could barely stand. The next day I had an emergency dentist appointment. 4 of the teeth on my left side had rotted on the inside while the outside was perfectly intact. X-rays showed black infection had filled my sinus canals and was putting immense pressure on my brain. This was the cause of all that suffering. To fix it they would have to pull all the teeth and drain the infection. Despite being on painkillers I tell you that relief from pressure I received that day was the greatest feeling in the world. It beats sex, it beats personal accomplishment, booze, emotional intimacy and even the satisfaction of victory as the best feeling in the world. But like all those things it didn't last long.

The emotional and mental problems didn't disappear over night: but the source did. I quit my job and forced myself into working full time on a cure. To which I was met with modest succcess: I mended the majority of the friendships I lost during that time (and some from before.) and rediscovered my religion. It was however not easy and several times I nearly slipped back down into that yawning pit of despair. Particularly in times of extreme stress or emotional duress. Because of that I have had to restrain myself: my relationships are not deep because I fear another deep emotional wound will cripple me. I no longer train myself with the fervor I once did for fear I could lose control of my body and hurt someone. I have become untrusting of myself and I have become untrusting of others.

Mostly I have fought this alone. Occasionally a friend or two would intervene but most found themselves hopelessly outmatched. As time has gone on I have asserted more and more control and received a clearer view of who I am now. I'm ready to overcome it completely but I find that some parts will not heal. Some wounds are still deep and ooze with emotional puss. I ran away from this evil and didn't face it until it nearly consumed me. This entire time I have chosen the easiest of battles. I have fought against that which I know is evil and wrong while refusing to face my own emotional pains. The very pains that put me here in the first place.

Yes. It has been lonely. But this last and final battle is not mine alone. I did not cut the scars into my soul and my hand alone cannot heal them nor put to rest the conflict in my mind. Even as I take steps to rise above what I was before I know that as long as this festering scar exists I will always be in danger of letting that evil seep into me. Right now this is my only problem. I hold no ambitions as a writer, a gamer, a political junkie or anything else. Nothing else exists.
Everyone that is extra has been deleted from my various contacts lists. Everyone else is unblocked now; anyone who thinks they can help me has one week to say so. At the end of that week I'm going to the one place I can know I can heal properly. People who give me overt religious conversion themed answers will also be ignored. The urgency that keeps me awake at night is that if I don't finish the job it will come back eventually.

Goodnight. Sleep well.

Drilling the Ice.

When researchers are measuring the effects of C02 in the artic they use Ice Cores. Essentially they use a big straw to pull out a section of ice which is then examined. You can see back thousands and thousands of years into the history of our planet by doing this.

This might come as a mild surprise to some but I haven't used my email much in several months. Quite intentionally I let the emails pile up without response. Occasionally I would skim for the people I felt I needed to talk to or an email I expect for various reasons. Since I started playing on Dark Iron my message box has filled with private messages on various forums. All un-read. It was exceptionally rude of me to do this. I felt I had a reason in isolating myself from the world; perhaps it was the right thing to do, perhaps not.

Going back to these emails many of which have never been opened exposes old wounds. My relationships in the past have been painful and my responses to them out of line. If I had taken the time to read each email I imagine things still would've been the same... but my responses could've been more civil. When you remove the pain from your heart you can see far more clearly the pain and discomfort you have caused others. It's a shame I learned this now and not a year ago.

The other striking thing is how pronounced the differences are over time. You can clear see the points that I am emotionally distressed and the points in which I am cold and uncaring. Farther on down the line I can see attempts at looking for answers and reconnecting to old friends. Then alittle further more roadblocks and emotional pitfalls. If I were an observer to my life I image it would be very insightful. It paints a very clear and flowing picture of a changing and unique person. The bumps become smaller and the successes become more pronounced as I read down the line. I'm not done and I imagine responding to every email over the last 3/4 of a year will take some time. Maybe some of them deserve silence. Who knows?

Raging River: Part Two

I can vary my attention between the outward and inward. Looking inside for challenges to overcome and then looking to the world for the same. I've spoken in the past about my the problems internal and external that I have conquered or attempted. I promised an expanation of my dream, vision and it's place in this crossroads.

I have long held a specific ideal of what I wanted to accomplish with my life. When I was young my only hobby was to design games. Games of such complexity that adults had a difficult time grasping the rules and concepts of it. Having no prior knowledge of the subject: I designed my own roleplaying games, board games, card games, sports and even word games. I was incredibly adept at it. But... I didn't have the social skills to get anyone to play the games. My response to this was to make the games more interesting. So I make backstory for my games. Lots and lots of backstory... well people took an interest in the stories but not the games.

That event has long sat in the back of my mind, it's certainly one of the most important in my life. I became a writer because people liked it. Yet I love games. I love designing them. I love playing them. I love reading about them and taking them apart and learning about them. Part of me always wants to be a game designer. Writer, Game designer, poltical activist and martial artist. Alot for one person to do with his life. Which is where the next part of this discussion comes in.

The Tao!
It's been described as dark and mysterious but in truth I don't know anything that is more clear. The Tao is the source of all life. Period.
Does the tao want us to worship it? Nope. Does it demand sacrifices of young woman and craven images? Nope. Does it want me to convert all the non-believers into my way of thinking? No it doesn't. It only wanted to create and nourish us. After that it is our will and determination that guides our path. To follow the Tao you follow your own heart and observe the laws of nature. You curb excesses and treat others with respect. You confound expecations by acting with spontanaity. In essence: you live.

You could call me a follower of the tao. But that would incorrect. The tao does not lead. My whole life it has been within my heart and when I listen it guides me. Early in my life certain things drove me. Certain pieces of literature or lines of thought. But the piece that made it all click together arrived in the form a book. It was called "Scholar Warrior" and it took all the feelings of my heart and gave them words. It created understanding where before there was confusion. I had read the bible and never found the kind of comfort I found in this book. The bible is harsh and filled with dark absolutes. It's very essence is to frighten people into belief. The vast majority of people who believe in god do so for fear of punishment. I'm not kidding.
Second place is family pressure. Third is a desire for community. Closely behind 3rd is actual belief. The bible isn't very comforting and it's not meant to be. It's purpose is to scare people in belief. When you remember the parts of the bible that are designed to scare people there isn't alot left. Lots of sex and war actually: if it were written better it might be a good read.

I didn't become a taoist out of fear of a terrible afterlife. I didn't become one out of pressure from my family and I've never even met another taoist face to face so I know it's not for the community. I did it because I felt it. The Scholar-Warrior book had one re-occuring theme in: and that is a well planned and experienced life. The scholar-warrior eptimoizes that.

"A Scholar thinks, but does not act. A Warrior acts, but does not think. A Scholar Warrior thinks, then acts"

I'm not sure where that quote came from. It's been sitting around my head and my files for a long time. Such versatility is vital for success in the world. We are becoming lazy and over specialized: But that is a topic for another time. Long story short I need a great variety of skills.
I can be a game designer and a writer. I can study theatre, psychology and martial arts and use those in my writing and game design. I should endever to embrace variety and complexity and not be afraid of it.

Lots of things have held me back from these ideals. Fear, ignorance, physical contraints, emotional issues and even a lack of desire. An overwhelming apathy if you will. The desire to improve yourself and the world is useless without the will to execute it. I can study and study but without the genuine desire to improve the study is wasted.

So here it is. The proclamation. Water covers all things, it consumes the high places and the low. It's speed and strength are unmatched. It doesn't plan or plot: it just does what it should.
And so shall I. The times are moving too fast for me to complete my voyage of self discovery. If opportunity passes thats it. I won't get another. Time to think... and to act.

What my dream was telling me is I should not hold back: I should not hold back my heart even if I fear pain. I should not hold back my mind even if I fear failure. I have people I can rely on; and they can rely on me. There is a shadow... but there is also light. I am besieged by death and yet filled with life. I feel pain and I feel love. Nothing should linger in my heart for too long. Be it love, pain, anger, regret, remorse, happiness or apathy. Holding onto one denies the others. Each is important and healthy.

It takes some time to change. Thats my way of saying I'll be disappearing till this is done. a few days I think.

Vision of a Raging River

When you awaken from a nightmare there is a moment between the dreaming and the wakeing that you are still part of each world; in this moment you have the unlimited potential of the dreamer and the sensation of reality of the wake mind. It that second of unlimited insight we can find our hearts innermost desire or confront our worst nightmare.

I have struggled with my own place in this world, I have struggled against my own demons and those at the gates of my corner of the world. Some of that I have written here and some I have kept to myself. As each problem falls I come closer and closer to the largest problem I have ever faced. I could say that this problem holds me back, but in truth the problem is I hold back.

There are few times in my life I have ever truly given my all. In those rare moments I create volumes of writing, defeat skilled enemies or push myself beyond any human capacity. Mostly however I wallow in my own medicore performance. As I have said before: "If you don't try and you can't lose." Well I have been torn between that statement and a statment of hope. I recall desperate battles that I won only because I held on alittle longer and marvel at how easily I could've folded. Indeed more often then not I did. It is not to say I have no desire to accomplish but rather my desire to accomplish is matched by a fear of failure and self-destruction.

I've had a variety of dreams over the last year. Nightmares of such ferocity that it strained my mind for weeks. An endless cycle of painful memories and forgotten emotions.
Inside me I have been building for a transformation, to shed those burdens and accept myself for what I really am. In many regards I've been more successful then anyone realizes. But always that last burden remains. I saved myself from the brink of insanity, endured the pain of betryal and heartbreak and gave myself a clear purpose and understanding.

The other half of my dreaming world is a vision for the future I have just now come to understand.
This is last nights dream. Fairly short and I'll explain the conclusion once I have finished.

I sat on the bank of the hudson watching the water float by. Behind me is a wooded campground and hundreds of people have gathered. It appears to be some kind of a family reunion but I don't recognize anyone there. It's noisy so I wander away into a much denser forest. It's really dark and bushes claw my arms and legs as I pass by. I reach the other side and come to an empty basin, It's sandy with some scattered and thawing snow. For some reason this reminds me of the castle in my earlier dream. (At this point I realize I am dreaming.)

I walk away from the forest and slide into the basin. The sand is cold to the touch and is rough on my body. Walking for awhile I come to the other side of the basin. The slope leads up and into a different forest. This forest isn't dark but instead is illuminated with moonlight. I walk into it and feel an amazing sense of peace. The path here is tidy and the forest is filled with the sounds of animals. Off in the distance I hear several birds playing in a river. I walk off the path and find them. It's my birds, including my birds that have died playing in the water. The yellow parakeet is under a small waterfall taking a shower. I giggle at this and watch them play for what seems like an eternity.

After awhile I hear something loud behind me, the birds all fly (or jump) off. I rush to catch them but then realize it's hopeless. Turning about face I run into the woods.
I come across a clearing, beams of moonlight flood it brightly.
In this clearing are all my friends, people I trust or have trusted. Most are in the personas that occur in my dreams. The Ghoul, The Dark Maiden, The Gambler, The Conflicted Assassin, The Frigid Maiden and the Bear Druidess. Plus a few new faces: Nick who appears as a giant, Sarah who is clothed like an amazon and a new person I don't recognize. Shes clothed in a mismatched checkering of white and black... it appears to be some kind of asian style robe with flowing almost frayed ribbons all over it. She carries a staff which has clearly seen better days.

They are all sitting around the moonlight talking, when I enter they fall silent.
I remember the shadowman in my previous dreams and the terrible battles I fought against him. I kneel in the center of this gathering and start to pray. I'm not certain who I was praying to or what. But I felt compelled to kneel in this place of energy and give my thanks. When I stood everyone else had already stood up as well. The Assassin and the Giant pull aside two crossed branches at the end of the clearing, unlike the clearing this path is dark and filled with shadows.

This part is hazy, but I remember running along this path. It twisted up and around a mountain and back down into the forest. Occassional beams of light would break into the darkness... but it only served to highlight it. The Amazon ran faster then me, she never bothered to stop for air. The darkness didn't phase her but as I ran it filled my heart with dread. Several times I stopped and could not run any farther. Finally she disappeared in the darkness ahead of me. I couldn't bring myself to go forward and stopped. Whatever evil dwelled within this forest it was getting closer and closer to me. Far behind me I hear my comrades mowing down the forest behind me; with a burst of courage I push aside the foliage and step forward.

This must be the heart of the wooded valley, on either side I see massive sheer cliffs. About a mile ahead I see the forest picks back up. Between the two breaks in the forest the ground is barren and dark. At the opposite end of the woods I see the shadow; behind him other shadows emerge from the ground. A few faceless undead shamble out of the woods.
I see the amazon standing off to the side, the darkness surrounds her but she doesn't seem fazed by it. The shadow here is almost physical. Like fog it twists and twirls around as if a phantom and unholy wind stirred it. My comrades spread out behind me... some drew weapons but most stood as they too fought off the shadows.

Shadows began to appear faster and faster and I felt an urgency to take action. I flicked my arms outward to summon my sword. Then again with my other hand. I was conscious of myself and remember I had possessed a second sword. The Ninja-to "sundering shadow".
I charge forward with both swords outstretched. Shadows appeared all around me... clawing at my face and chest. I cut them in half with ease. Larger shadows came at me from both sides. I rolled towards the left and cut hit with both swords at once. To the right the gambler was struggling with the larger shadow. I tossed him sundering shadow and he cut it from head to crotch cleanly.

Around me the companions engaged the shadows. A dozen shadows clung to the giant but he tossed them aside in an almost cartoon fashion. The undead advanced on us with the shadows. Everything became a blood filled mass of confusion. I hear the cries of pain from my comrades but I couldn't see them to render aid. Shadows clung to my legs and arms holding me back.
I saw the conflicted Assassin defending the Frigid Maiden who had fallen. The gambler was backed into a corner fighting off dozens of faceless undead.
The ghoul had suffered a blow to the head and was laying on the ground. A second wound on her stomach was bleeding out over the darkness. The Dark Maiden was in this battlefield almost impossible to see. Occasionally I would see a flash of darkness and the walking dead would fall.

The moonlight grows darker, in the skies it begins to eclipse.
I tear my left hand free in a cry of maddening sorrow. For a moment I touch on the maddness I sought to contain. I scream and rage against the shadowy chains that bind me down.
Inch by inch the battlefield darker and darker. As the shadow starts to fall over me I scream even louder. Kicking and fighting I struggle until I cannot feel my legs anymore. The shadow numbs me to my heart and soul. I hear the battle raging around me and as the shadow grows it becomes more and more distant. In my field of vision the conflicted assassin cleaves down a handful of smaller shadows before walking on to a different enemy.

After a moment the darkness and dispair blocks my vision. I flail uselessly against it more.
I can only barely feel the sword in my right hand, as it starts to numb I hear a voice. I can't identify the source but it's female. "If you want to succeed forget your fear."
She kept talking... urging me on but the words fade to nothingness. I scream over and over against the darkness until I begin to cry. Everyone I care about is dying and I can't save them.
I hear behind me chanting, a steady latin warchant. I move my left hand around slightly but my right hand is still held fast. Hot tears still falling down my face I scream and kick again. My right hand loosens slightly and I start to slash with the tiny amount of room I have. I scream again and again until I fall to the darkened ground, I can feel warm blood where I lay and the air smells like wood and smoke.

The blood crawls underneath me, it's thick and warm. I want to get up but I'm so tired I cannot.
Around me the battle still rages, I pull myself up and look around. It's so dark now I cannot see who is who but the ferocity of the battle implies that many still live. Still standing in his same spot is the shadowman. I feel regret hit me like a train, he succeeded because I was unwilling to fight him before. I know that I am dreaming but the dispair of this nightmare strikes terror into me. I lock my sword into a left sweeping position and charge his vanguard. The shadows fall under the speed of my assualt. Race between the groups of shadows with unnatural speed. I free the shadows clinging to the frigid maiden, she says something to me weakly and her head falls to the ground. I see blood on the sides of her lips. Not saying another word I kill the shadows all around me. The pressence of the darkness maddens me. Screaming as I charge I mow them down over and over. It's as if maddness and sorrow power my bloodthirsty blitzkrieg.

As I kill the shadowman starts to laugh, a shrill manical life filled with hate and contempt. I put my sword in it's scabbard and prepare myself for a quickdraw technique.
The shadowman responded in kind, his sword a thin almost translucent shadow. My hands felt wet with blood... and salt water. The Shadowman charged me but something inside me broke. I did not want to fall to his traps again. Madness took hold of my mind and I rushed him with the ferocity of a raging river. I opened with a downwards iiajitsu which he just barely dodged, without a second of hesitiation my sword swept to the right after hit striking him deeply. His own sword parried me backwards a few steps. The maddeness lessened and I blocked his flurry of strikes. Whatever held me back before I didn't feel it. Instead I felt alive.

He prepared himself for my counterattacks and I pratically leapt in the air after him. I didn't attempt to byass his sword but rather attacked it directly. His sword of shadow was cut neatly in two and my own steel cut his midsection open. He stumbled to the ground and melted.




I slept 10 hours the night I had this dream. It was very draining to me.
I'm ready for this last barrier, this last challenge. After that I have only the world to face.
The last thing I remember from this dream is standing in a pool of cool water with my blade. Because it's late I'll share my results later. I'm not sleeping tonight but I wish everyone who is a goodnight.

A different kind of Crusade.

Today the burning crusade expansion came out for World of Warcraft. Like many others I arrived at the pre-order line just before midnight.

In all truth I haven't had the same affection for video games lately as I have in the past.
It's not that I don't find them fun, but when my hands were recovering I played very badly at the games I did play. I played less and less until an incident with my guild forced me out completely. All of these events are my fault and I'm not trying to force blame on others.

I don't think I've reached the levels I once had, years back before my accident. But I feel more confidant now in my reflexes and more importantly in the speed of my tactical reasoning. Anyone can learn to react quickly, but a true measure of skill is to reason quickly.
So here I am learning to play all over again in the outlands with a new crew and new computer.
I found in certain moments my skill had improved drastically from before, I aligned my shots for better effect and kept track of my allies movements to give them cover. But then the basic stupid mistakes crop up over and over again. But my hands still can't keep up with the speed of my mind.

In my view there are only three reasons to play a game. The first and most important is to have fun, the second reason is to teach or learn and the third is to prove something to yourself or others. In an ideal setting I try for all three at once; but far more often I only catch two at a time. World of Warcraft for example doesn't teach me anything, but it is fun and has a strong social element.

The slowness of my reflexes shouldn't bother me... but it does. I have a desire to do my best at everything. I know I'm sloppy with my spelling and grammer in this blog. But I take the rest of my writing very seriously. Being able to respond against an orc hunter has no practical value in the real world whatsoever and yet so many people play every day honing their skills to pit against others. It's really no different then days long past. Humans have a desire to compete with each other and to assert control. I have been profiled different times in this regard and have had different results each time.

Almost everytime I test or gauge my psyche in this region it comes back skewed. This particular thing is interesting enough to mention here. Essentially the test comes back one of two ways. I am a quintessential alpha male or I am a "diplomat" or a dealmaker.
In social situations the alpha male is outgoing, charismatic, aggressive (most use the word forceful) and self-concerned (I use that word instead of self-centered... which appears negative.). If a social group has any unattached females the Alpha Male tends to snatch up whichever he prefers before the others. I know it sounds like I am talking about wolves. But in truth humans are still slaves to their base instinicts. Alpha Males have a specific trait they focus on and lord over others. Sometimes its physical strength or mental. Sometimes it's money or class or connections. Rarely is an alpha male tyrannical and often they are seen with a false or exaggerated sense of modesty.

The other I test for often is the dealmaker or the diplomat. The Diplomat makes few enemies (Often selecting enemies intentionally as pretense for an alliance with someone.) and tries to win people over with his or her words. The smart diplomat is rarely all words and no action however; a skillfull show of force adds weight to later negotiations. The Diplomat brokers peace between all of his friends and shows the utmost respect to his enemies. Attacking him makes you appear to be overly aggresive and generally a bad person; this causes allies to flock to the diplomat. He accomplishes with goodwill and skilled communication what others cannot.

Here I am: An aggressive Diplomat. Certainly we have seen many in this world. Bismarck, Tallyrand, Kissinger and others I can't recall offhand. Some have been too aggresive and gotten themselves into trouble. Others have controlled the urge to... well control to the point they can do good. It's interested to note that a desire to control itself isn't evil. I want to do good but my methods for bringing good are more ruthless then some people can handle.

Now for the two topics to make sense together.

I play games because I have something to prove to myself, I get a sense of accomplishment for every enemy I kill and every item I pick up. It's an arena and outlet for my skills that is acceptable by society. For a child that was starved of positive attention it's an outpouring of self esteem. I was always one of the best card players, video game players, chess players and roleplayers. I did it to fill in myself a hole that in truth could never really be filled.
Now however I've plugged that hole, I no longer have the burning desire I once had. I feel the urge on occasion but my exile from video games seems to have weened me off it.

Yes. My psychological makeup is still the same as it was before. I still have a desire to control others and a desire to make people whole. A desire to make people happy and to motivate them to new heights. Control sounds harsh but good leadership is a form of control. It doesn't apply only to the control of a persons entire will... but to the control and subjegation of specific and undesirable aspects. In other words a leader suppresses things that hurt a group and brings out the beneficial and effective. A true leader does anyway.

I am a good leader when I want to be, but honestly I find myself better as a Lt or advisor. I don't want the responsbility of the entire organization on my head. But I do want as much power as possible to ensure that it succeeds. The head of an organization receives too much attention for his full potential to come out anyway. A good leader however doesn't hesitate or second guess himself... which I tend to do. Also a truly effective leader doesn't have a bias or hold grudges which I also tend to do. For those reasons and more I am happy to be a leader on the small scale. I am happy looking for accomplishment in the world and within a world that is fantasy. For all the misgivings I have about it: I can still do more in a world of fantasy then in a real one. My reflexes are slowly returning and someday I hope that my hands match the speed of my mind. In the meantime I'm off to finish some writing before bed. Torrow I will BC until my eyes bleed or I get bored and read.

Raging River, Torrent of Memories.

Sorry for the double post last night. I've hardly slept in days and it's wearing me down.

As I have said before: periods of intense focus have side effects. My dreams of late have been unusual. Perhaps not as unusual as past dreams... but disturbing enough I want to find the source.

One thing appears in so many dreams and that is my sword.
I know in the past I have mentioned my azure katana. It's less a weapon then a piece of art.
Far as I know it doesn't exist in reality; only fittingly enough in my dreams.
It's balanced for my height and weight, so perfectly that it feels more comfortable then my own hands. But the most striking feature of all is blade itself.

Most people think of a sword as a weapon, a tool of death and chaos. The raging river has a pattern of water running from the hilt to the tip. The hilts side of the blade is calm and serene while the tip is a raging torrent. The farther away from me the blade strays the more chaotic it becomes, the more that calm is broken down and losses it's power. Like water it is a sword that is beyond the mastery of a human being, it's existance is a paradox to me: A weapon not meant to kill. I saw a scattering of images in my dream.

The sword sits on my lap while I meditate, I look calm and peaceful. Around me I know there is chaos and evil but I don't see it, nor does it enter me.

Off in the distance I see a dark shadow, the light from the streetlamps paints him in a most frighteneing light. I know my own strength and brace myself for the shadow. But it keeps walking. I watch as eventually it passes me completely disappearing into the night.

I'm sitting in a room filled with snakes, Someone I remember from my past is sitting on a couch with a look of complete calm. All around him the snakes coil and crawl. I jump backwards to the closest corner and kick the snakes back. A few large ones circle towards me anxiously.

Perhaps the worst was last however. I was in my old highscool walking down the hallways.
Instead of live people the halls were filled with the walking dead, crawling shambling zombies of every color, shape and size. I walked past them to the cafeteria and near it my old history class.
On one desk I see my sword, I walk over to pick it up but my hand goes right through it.
Sitting down I study the details of the sword, but its hazy and I can't see it clearly enough.

I hear a voice and look up. A strange man in a blue terry bath robe is writing on the whiteboard.
I look around and see the dead have filled the seats of my class. The walks back and forth as he tells his story... It's captivating and I sit and listen to him. After a second I raise my hand, he points to be reluctantly. "Why am I here?" I ask the man.
He smiled and said nothing, instead he pointed to the board again. I recognized it as the kind of outlines used in psychological profiling, only it had annotations I didn't understand. The writing was garbled up, but I understood the purpose of the graph.
I walk over to it and run my hand across the length of it.
I'm unsure why, but I somehow felt that this was my linechart, that somehow my life had been imposed onto this board. Like a psychological sine chart I read the rising and falling of my being.

The class is empty again, This time the teacher is sitting in my seat with his hands stroking the side. I'm vaguely aware that I am dreaming, but I am so tired that I cannot do anything more then let the dream carry me farther and farther away from reality.
"Why doesn't the sword work all of the time?" I ask the teacher.
"You tell me, it's your sword." he replies.
It is my sword, an unruly extension of my own will. A will I am myself afraid to manifest.
"Are you saying it's because I'm afraid of myself?" I ask him impatiently.
He doesn't answer right away. The runs his hands along the sword as if he was stroking a cat.
"I'm saying what your saying." he finally replied.

I'm not entirely sure why, but I forget what happens next. I just remember running to the back gym and out the door to the track field. The dead are walking around the track in circuits.
In the enter of the track there is a large ball of zombies, it seems to be rolling towards me.
I flick my arms in enter into a swordstance but my sword doesn't appear. In perfect discipline I attack with no blade, despite having no physical weapon the ball slows it's approach to me.
I blink and the zombies are all gone, the light is shining brightly and the air is fresh.
On the bleachs I see a young woman tieing her running shoes, this is not a dream but a memory.
I am watching from afar as I talk to his girl many years past. She is my best friends girlfriend and I conceal for the sake of that friend my own feelings toward her.

She runs at a modest speed and my past memory persona runs quickly but wears out after a few friends laps. I saw her feelings clear as day but took no actions.

I blink again, I'm even farther in the past now. Sitting across from me is a skilled card player. This is a pre-release tournament and I'm in the final 4. The game is very close. My enemy taps his creatures indicating an attack. I check their power and the power of my own creatures. Unsure of his motives I block the largest creatures and leave 2 smaller ones to hit me. He point to the creature and tells me that he sacrifices all his land to give the creature +12. With a sigh I pull my cards together. A few moments later a friend walks up behind me with a copy of the same card. Only 1 land may be sacrificed to make it stronger. That battle should've been mine had I bothered to read the card entirely. My friends urged me to appeal to the judge but I instead I simply left.

The images get blurry, I sit alone staring at a filled notebook. It's deep inside a church. Elsewhere in the church my family is putting together a wedding. I pour flip page after page writing a story. Then I tear the story apart. (This did happen, but it didn't happen at the church." I walk around the church. It's completely spotless and I marvel at it. It was one of the few times I have felt peace in a church. Turning a corner I walk into a gym. On the stage I am putting on a show, without warning I turn to my cousin and push him off the stage hurting him severely. (This did happen, but the real events were different.)

All these things are bothering me, I keep turning the halls of the church looking for somewhere quiet. Around the walls I hear whispers from my past. A cruel joke, harsh whispers from the other children. They whisper that my father is a drunk and my mother had to die to escape him.
I pass a room filled with a faded flickering white light. Poking my head in I see myself playing on my first computer and playing my first computer game: Champions of Krynn.
Beside me is my goldfish in a large pyramid shape, I talk to him but all he does is swim around.
The whispers fade until I can't make out the words. I look down the hall again and see a heavy metal doorway with a small ancient softy glass window. I'm in my elementary school now.
Walking down the north past near the mobiles I see myself on the ground bleeding, I stood up to a larger boy and got beaten up. Each time I stood he pushed me back down. Around me I saw dozens of silent children. Farther down the path I circle around to the playground. The slide which held so many memories is gone, my hands burn with the memory of it. I yearn to run up the slide and to be pulled down by the other children. I remember it is a game. But the game and it's memories are gone. Now it's completely abandoned.
I see a girl standing over me, again the cruelty of the other children. One girl tries to help me up. I am shocked to see her face, it's animated and peppy in contrast to the serious half-frown I held. I had a crush on her then, and then again later in highschool. Nothing came of it but I still remember her offered hand to me.

All these memories occured within this dream. Short as it was it made me think quite a bit.
Is my minding trying to tell me something? I'm not really sure actually; but maybe I should find out. Goodnight.

Brain = Dead

Anyone who knows me also knows I have terrible insomnia.
Generally I find this to be a blessing as opposed to a curse. Right now especially.
I've written 20 pages of sourcebook material tonight alone and I have enough information for 20 more tomorrow. Properly proofed at least half of this material will be fit to publish.

But most importantly it's getting down onto paper and out of my head. Maybe when it's all out I'll finally get to sleep.

I do however now know that 10+ hours of strait writing is extremely uncomfortable. Even allowing myself time to watch the quail eat.

Goodnight all. I'm going to lay for a few hours before I start writing again.

Brain = Dead

Anyone who knows me also knows I have terrible insomnia.
Generally I find this to be a blessing as opposed to a curse. Right now especially.
I've written 20 pages of sourcebook material tonight alone and I have enough information for 20 more tomorrow. Properly proofed at least half of this material will be fit to publish.

But most importantly it's getting down onto paper and out of my head. Maybe when it's all out I'll finally get to sleep.

I do however now know that 10+ hours of strait writing is extremely uncomfortable. Even allowing myself time to watch

Meltdown and importance of cool.

I'm been thinking, writing, thinking about writing or thinking about thinking all day.
I could write about thinking but it might cause the universe to collapse.

I suffer from the typical writers dilemma. When I want to write the ideas don't come easily. I fight for every one. When I'm eating, playing a game or taking a shower those ideas pour like niagra and excite more then viagra. (I'm going to hell for that, but I couldn't resist.)
I settle in to finish the real heavy work of my sourcebook project and chat with people via AIM and MSN. What happened however is a meltdown.

Someone got mad at me for reasons I don't yet understand. I was myself upset over her behavior but said nothing inflammatory. Then I got yelled at and blocked.
I log onto my unused and almost forgotten AIM and try to find out what happened. Then suddenly my computer resets itself. I check the inside and it's burning hot all over. Thankfully the CPU fan still works. But all the other fans did not.
After a few hasty rewirings and replacements of older fans. (am I the only person who keeps extra fans in a box?) I'm back in bussiness. Only blocked on both accounts now.

Here I sit with a looming personal deadline and no desire to write. Instead I have guilt, remorse and a touch of loneliness to keep me occupied. So instead of productive writing I'm sitting her taping away at my blog which has a very mininal impact on both my career and society.
So since I'm here I should articulate something I was thinking and talking about earlier today.

When I was studying psychology I came across a sub-catagory called Kinesics.
Alot of people have heard about the ability to read body language. Yet what isn't understood is that everybody has the ability to read body language. It's mostly sub-conscious but most of us have it. Studying it was very interesting and gave me new insights into human behavior.
It was taken a step further when I learned martial arts. In a fight or match sheer reaction to your enemies movements isn't enough, great fighters have the ability to predict.
I'm less skilled with this specific aspect of Kinesics but I do have some ability. This is where feints and mind reading techniques become even more important. Those are sadly above my level of unarmed fighting.

The final layer isn't a science at all, reading the body and the mind are easy. What took the most work and has proven to be the most valuable is the ability to read a spirit or a soul.
I've been told by people who practice wicca that I have an old soul and a strong spiritual power, I have been warned by christian mystics (oddly enough they exist) that evil forces covet my soul and I've had people who consider themselves "free mystics" or "spiritually attuned" tell me that I have an awesome gift. Now I don't subscribe to every belief under the sun. I don't pretend to have a unique insight into the divine... but I have in my life had things happen that have validated all the above statements.

Once when I was in highschool I was working out in track (Hurdles I think) and like many young men I watched the girls running with the cross country team. One girl stood out to me. I didn't know her and we had no mutual friends. She wasn't the most attractive, or athletic or smartest girl there but I felt a strange attraction to her. Later during the fundraiser I got the nerve to talk to her and we started to date. The attraction I had to her couldn't be explained with words. It was as though the beauty of her soul shined past the body and pulled me in. Nobody else noticed or acknowledged this. Some of my friends teased me for dating such a comely young woman.

Needless to say it's not a precise skill, I'm not sure if it can be taught or learned. It's a sense that I possess of things that are spiritual. I can sense a haunted house when I walk past it. or the pressence of an evil spirit. I've pushed my efforts into learning to read the content of a persons soul as I said earlier; It's not a detailed report but a feeling. I've used my head or heart and been wrong a thousand times, but this sense has never been wrong or lead me astray. (What a shame it's practical value is limited eh?) I once told a friend of mine who is catholic that god gave every person the ability to see evil, most of us unlearn it so we don't have to see the evil within us.
That may or may not be true, but I thought it insightful at the time. We choose not to see evil because it absolves us of the responsibility of facing it. That I can sense evil and good could simply be a byproduct of my intense internal nature. I admit to my evil and to my imperfection; sometimes I am able to change it sometimes I am not. But I am honest about it.

Some people will doubt me, challenge me or believe me completely. I don't actually care what others think of my "gift" or ability. It is not unique to me and it's not something I can prove to a disbeliever. In the past it's even gotten me hurt or into situations that could be considered unsafe emotionally. But it's potential for good is like my own: limited only by my will.

I've cooled off enough from my earlier situation to go back to work. The universe keeps moving despite my problems and my toil, and honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.

Design Theory, Plus some meaningless background.

One of the reasons I haven't been able to complete the novel based of my setting is a lack of complete design. The original ideas for my world and it's inhabitants were first put to paper when I was around 12 or 13. Most of my ideas were born from an active imagination and no experience in design or effective storytelling. The most fundamental aspects of which still exist even as I redesign it today. Over the years by storytelling, roleplaying and creative thought I have put flesh to my world. It's gone from the raw insight of a child to the whiteboard of an angst filled teenager and then into something unexpected. With every insight I have gleamed in my life it has grown. Every culture I explore, every book I read, every person I talk to. Each of them adds to my collective knowledge and bit by bit the world created within my imagination reflects that.

When I was young I wrote my first short story. Elfrea the Dark Elf. Being poor and isolated culturally I had few early influences on my storytelling. To that point I had read Lloyd Alexanders "The book of three" and Ursula LeGuins "The Wizard of Earthsea". I had a nintendo but no fantasy games, no roleplaying games. If memory serves I had Tetris, Mario and Mega Man 3. Elves do no appear in any of those games or books. I had a single Magic: The Gathering Card. It was some kind of a crappy dwarf that made a creature with power 2 or less unblockable. I keep searching my mind for where I gleamed the insight for that first story but it isn't there. My only conclusion is that my uncle told me about it. In the later formative years he inspired me play roleplaying games and read fantasy novels.

Elfrea was a dark elf as the name says. He was an elite ranger who was training to be a griffon rider when he was framed for murdering his teacher. Elfrea suspected his rival Kain had planted his sword at the scene and killed the teacher himself. The story starts with Elfrea meeting a goblin trader in the forest. The trader possess a bauble that will enhance elfreas magic enough to sneak back into Theldar and murder Kain. However the Goblin is not satisfied with Elfreas payment and attacks him. Elfrea kills him with his magic and takes the stone.
As he prepares to make his escape Elfrea hears a sound nearby and decides to check it out. It's a troll named Gesstol who is wounded and fleeing into the woods from humans. Elfrea and Gesstol fight to stalemate until the humans arrive. Realizing their mutual survival was at stake they work together and drive the humans out of the woods.


Now. I remember this story word for word. It's imprinted deeply into my soul for reasons I cannot describe. It's the feeling of a first love, a first kiss, the first time you "really" see a sunset. But looking back on it there are alot of minor issues. For example. Goblin Merchant? Exotic to an 11-12 year old but not so much to me. Kain the elven ranger? Not very elven sounding to me.
Why would an elite ranger need a stone to sneak back into a forest city? It's a dear story to me but I'm afraid it's not good enough to be in my setting the way it was. Ever since that day I have had my own internal view of what a "troll" or an "elf" was. In my story Gesstol and Elfrea used their isolation and exile to form a powerful friendship. Trolls were green and large with various tusks. Gesstol had no tusks (They were cut off when he was a slave) and was thinner then the average troll. Elves were innate magic users and experts with bow and sword prefering to conceal themselves in the trees then fight any potential enemies directly.

Both of those themes are common in fantasy but to me then they were exotic and new. I was caught up in the idea of a world of fantasy and didn't realize that internally I was already becoming a writer. I knew the background of my characters as if by instinct. I did not need to draft or plot or outline. My characters were who they were and they were that way for a reason. Even something as small as Gesstols missing tusks made it into my story. The pacing could use some work and I doubt an elite elf ranger should take more half a page of fighting to kill a goblin. (Which it did. If I rewrote the story I would change it to" "Elfrea cleanly sliced off the goblins head, averting his gaze as the derranged creature fell to the forest floor.")

Theldar the home of the elves made it into my setting and so did the idea of "dark elves".
My logically view was a society that was "good" would never kill if they had the choice, instead they punished severe crimes with banishment. Hence the elf became "dark" or exiled.
Later however I read the dragonlance chronicles which pretty much use the same idea. Even later after that one of my friends desired playing a Drow Elf made popular by forgotten realms.
After some issues (this was 2nd Ed still) I allowed him to play. One thing that became apparent to me right away was that drow did not fit my setting and over time I removed them. (By plague and lynching to keep the storyline consistant.) Eventually I demoted drow to a lower station of myth and rumor. In my new (and cleaner) setting there are no drow. I have returned to the earlier idea of "Dark Elves" with a new twist...

In the redesign it was apparent I wanted to add new cultures to my setting. Among them a nordic-themed people. One of the things the nordic mythologies have going for them is elves. Elves that are colorful in history but also divided into Light and Dark. Bumping into this recently brought back the memory of Elfrea the Dark Elf. I realized then the potential for an even more interesting culture. Take the "Dark Elves" of nordic myth and exile them to the world of Drakkor away from their Light cousins. Those survivors hide themselves underground and in forests humans dare not travel through. As time passes these wood elves and their cousins the grey elves exile their criminal populations. The Dark elves of legend and the exiled wood and grey elves have much in common and form an alliance and then finally a society. Intermingling and creating a meritocracy of assassins, magical killers and master spies. Blended by generations of interbreeding the Dark Elves are a unique hybrid with a vastly different society then their cousins the wood elves.

Not only did I get a nordic themed race but it blended seamlessly into my existing ideas and work. The bombastic arrogant light elves need not change from the nordic legends I plucked them from; and it is one less thing I need to worry about. Not all of my setting is based on mythology, the significant bulk of it is in fact completely original. Yes it is still filled with Tolkien-esque dwarves and elves. But the dwarves of my setting aren't greedy and aloof. My dwarves are showoffs and devoted allies. They launch massive projects to better themselves and their friends... and they smirk and showoff the entire time. My elves defy the typical norms for fantasy elves... the mordathal elves use crossbows and swords... they tatoo their bodies and thirst for war over any kind of peace. My trolls don't have an island accent or throw axes with pinpoint accuracy. Nor are they massive killing machines with no brains. Drakkori Trolls speak their own language, have a modest society and frown upon outsiders pre-judging them. The Avian (birdmen) races of my setting are varied and have unique personalities, yes I borrowed the idea from the japanese "Tengu" but I gave it a flavor and style all my own. The goverments and cultures of my world vary immensely. For example in one corner there is a country ruled by evil dragons who war constantly with a cadre of demons. (who have a nearby portal to their homeworld Kilrah.)

The ideas of my youth were not stupid or bad. Some in fact are so original I feel very compelled to use them. What I lacked then was the skill to use those ideas to design something new. Dark elves had been done (By Dragonlance to my knowledge... maybe others.) in that style before. But I am certain nobody has Nordic Dark elves in a society with exiled Wood and Grey Elves.
I'm really enjoying putting together a sourcebook. For years this entire world has been in my head and in my heart. The only way others could glimpse at it was when I let them. It would be a thousand kinds of relief if I could get all of it onto paper where others can read it without me.
More important they can read the words and add to them. Right now it's my world. But someday I want that world to belong to everyone... be it through books, comics, movies or games. Anyway I need some sleep. I have alot of work to do tomorrow.

Head Trama

Falling on your head really hurts. No really.

Temporary memory loss is extremely awkward. No really.

When someone asks you what your name is and you can't remember AND your stone-cold sober something is wrong.

Yes. I have the worst headache ever. So people don't ask me a million times it was a towel someone left on the stairs. I slipped when I was running upstairs for more office space.

While recovering I had some time to think about various things. Being injured creates a desire to be pampered and loved. It's a keen vulnerability in me already; compounded I'm not entirely sure what to say. But when it boils down to it; my most basic desire to be cared for and to be safe. This flies against my desires to be free and passionate. In essence my heart wants to be bound down and to be cared for while being free to express myself. Like all internal conflicts it rages back and forth one taking hold for a time before another takes it's place. Only now I feel the desire to be loved and protected more strongly. It could easily be age that causes this; or my recent trama to the head. Whichever the cause it dampens my desire to take risk and take chances. Call it a nesting desire or a desire to "settle down". Maybe it will pass and my usually flair for freedom and isolation will gain ascendance.

I honesty think there is no more important choice in this world then a choice of mate. You are who you marry (or date). The personality, skills and tastes of your mate rub off on you over time. Like some kind of derranged stockholm syndrome your sympathy for your mate grows over time. In a relationship where one member suffers from mental disorders the other is more then twice as likely to suffer from a mental disorder then he/she would be otherwise. One of the more interesting traits within inter relationships studies is that often one partner is "stronger" or more dominant then the other more "passive". Generally the alpha members values, beliefs and ideals are accepted as "truths" and the passives beliefs (compatible or otherwise) are devalued or supressed. There is no harm in this, and the advantages to a uniform belief system are too numerous to count here. But it gives me a moment of pause.

If I were to marry someone of a different religion then me would I convert her? Could I condone such a thing? Would it perhaps be better to find someone who also shared strong beliefs and a strong willpower. Then instead of one being dominate it would be closer to my ideal love. A partnership.

You see a partner is different then you. As strong or stronger. Enough shared values to be close but different enough to keep a spark of conflict. Conflict is more productive and useful then it appears. It keeps the lines of communication open (if your smart about it), promotes more flexible and diverse thinking, spices up romance and allows the couple to reach conclusions a single person (No matter how wise) could reach on his own. A lover is your best friend and worst enemy. A wall to bounce ideas off, The scabbard to your naked blade... to hold you back when your about to go too far. Or to protect you when you've fallen or failed. An ideal lover does not worry about what divides you but rather the threads of love and fate that bring you together. In all people and for all eternity there will be differences: Religion, idealology, political affiliation, class and race. People will forever seek reasons to fight and not to love and cherish each other.

An ideal lover puts you before her. She would gladly sacrifice her life for you. And she knows you feel the same about her. A heart that is filled with fear cannot be filled with love. The love is displaced until the fear dispelled. There is no breach of trust between ideal lovers. The rules are unspoken and clearly established. There is no flirting with the line, to flaunt it is to break the most sacred of unspoken laws. That is truly what an ideal relationship is about. The unspoken.

To those who can feel others the breach of trust is double-edged. You feel your own pain at the betryal and you feel the pain of your betrayer. Of the one you loved. Be that covanent spoken or unspoken. When you love someone it creates a bond that words cannot explain or express. To break it is to lose a tranquility and a peace that can never be restored. When you are betrayed and your lover crosses that unspoken line there is no recourse in logic, no words that make sense. It is what it is and it cannot be undone. The scars it causes are consigned forever to live just under the surface.

To say then that trust is essential is an understatement. Trust is everything. If you cannot put your back to your lovers without doubt then she is not for you. It can be said that true love is eternal, it transcends the mortal shell of a body and it reaches to a world beyond the sight of men. In such a place there isn't just love, but there is only love.

Some people love the idea of love. To idea of being cared for. Some people are enarmored of the concept of eternal and undying lust. After all lust is not a bad thing. Lust is a fire that consumes the soul and burns away pain and sadness. Lust can break apathy or thaw a frigid and chilled heart. Yet for all that lust is not love. The two can exist at once but one does not equate to the other. You can love someone to the depths of your being and have no sexual or romantic desire whatsoever. And yet when you have both at once, when your bodies, souls and minds are locked together not just as lovers of the body... but lovers of the soul... that is an ideal lover. To love on every level that a person is capable of... a body... a soul and a mind. Do I still yearn to be free? Yes I would be lying if I said I didn't. But far greater then that I wish to commit myself in my entirety to one soul, one body and one mind.

But hell I fell down a flight of stairs two days ago. Who am I to know?

Two Drink Min.

When I was younger I remember the "thinking critically" subsections at the end of every chapter. I never understood exactly what it was to think "critically". I understand thinking rationally or conservatively. I've spent more time being social the last week or so then I have in recent memory. Yet today I get home around 2:00; sit down and pour myself a glass of Rum and Coke with the intention of relaxing. I have to decide once and for all what I am doing with this year and to "think critically". Yet as soon as I sit down I am assualted by an eerie sense of loneliness. I yearn for a good conversation or the quiet unassuming gaze of a friend over a chess board. I want to watch DVDs and giggle at cheesy one liners. Yet I am getting myself ready to move across the country to support a cause that may or may not succeed with people I don't know. It's a scary thought to realize I would be alone and without a safety net.

So here I sit with a mixed drink that could use alittle more pepsi and no idea what I am going to do with my life. I tried talking to my grandparents about it and it made me feel even more hopeless. They don't believe the world can change and doubt I'll be able to accomplish any different. When I lay at night I think of how hopeless my cause really is. I'm thousands of miles away and my income as a writer isn't enough to live on yet; not to mention actually getting back east to do something. The few connections I have aren't much help and some of them are might even be pitfalls I hadn't imagined.

The glass is half empty now. All those critical thinking exercises plus a glass of bad rum and I have nothing. Everyone I know is going back to school and I am sitting out waiting for something I fear cannot happen. The logistics are painfully difficult and even now all I can see are dozens of possible failures. In each my personal shortcomings are manifest directly and I cannot fathom an escape if things went bad so far from home. I pride myself on a mind that thinks tactically, that can find every possible victory. Yet I am finding that the real world does not always offer you a possibility of victory. In it's cruelty sometimes even our best is a wasted and futile effort.

Glass is 2/3rds gone. Spiced Rum carries a bitterness when it's not mixed properly. Having only in the last few years started to drink I have trouble getting accustumed to this. I drink things that are sweet like mountain dew. I drink on occasion because it is one of the few things that will slow down my mind. My mind slogs the same information over and over again, possible methods of making money, various low end contacts in the poltical world, my inexperience in the world of politics, Electoral math and most important of all the effort it would have on my life.
The information does not change. I sift it over and over again. I divert my mind to games or matters of study and it returns again at an unguarded moment.

Glass is empty now. It may not be a fevered pace but my mind is still working. I still feel a tinge of loneliness in my heart. I am a creature of the night... but whatever path I take this will have to change. I cannot isolate myself to encourage productivity and cut off potential hurt anymore.
One of the more interesting side effects of light drinking is my mind because more disorderly. Already chaotic and filled with conflicting, loud and diverse thoughts it descends to an even lower level of order. I sit here trying to organize my thoughts and they float away alittle faster then normal. They escape my reach just barely. Just by the tips of my mental fingers.
Relaxed... yes. But no closer to an answer.

New Drink. Watermelon Vodka and Mountain Dew. Very very strong.
Sobriety hasn't helped me grapple with these very difficult issues. Maybe the reverse eh?
I kid of course. Drinking doesn't have a strong effect over my intellect. I would have to drink far more then I am willing to for that to happen. My father let drink dictate his life and it's something I will be think about every time a drink touches my lips. It's me in control, not it.
It's harsh but not bitter. I think the ratio is too strong but I wanted to finish off what was left in the bottle.

Barely into this drink. Cognative functions are still slowing. The numbers of my problem have become more abstract but no less pressing. The problem is as it always is: Money. With a modest amount of money I could blog the entire thing. Ohio would be my playground. I could cover every aspect of the upcoming poltical battle royale. Hell instead of ohio I could blog Florida or Connecticut. (if I spelled that wrong I am deeply sorry). There is demand for competent writing in the poltical arena, it's almost insatiable really. My dream of working for a good intelligent man may have to die here and now. Obama is a great man that much is certain. But there is no certainty of a job (even a low paying one), nor is it certain that I would be able to support myself if I did land a modest job as a staffer.

Glass inches down. This vodka is much stronger then I thought. Once thing as a writer I can do and I know it's not unique to me is understand the mind of another writer. Obama writes from a place in his heart and because of that what he says doesn't sound cheap or poltical. Yet his mind is sharp and thinking ahead by leaps and bounds. He has worked out every problem he thinks he will face and he intends to do that facing with honesty. What would be long buried dirt to another is something for him to lift up. He admits to second guessing himself or feeling guilty about his job. He illuminates himself as human and when I read his words I see past the poltical meaning to his heart. It is a rare talent to write from that insubstancial place and still convey all the meaning you intend. I want more then anything to help him accomplish his dream of a better world. I understand the poltics and in some areas I don't even fully agree with the senator. But I do believe in his heart he wants the world to be a better place and I agree with his vision of a better world even if policy by policy we disagree sometimes.

Half Empty. Mind is blank except for what I summon into it. A state I can accomplish with either intense focus and meditation or by moving from light drinking to moderate drinking.
When I finish this drink I am certain I will be unable to write further without ranting or degrading to something you would find on Mypsace.
I know with certainty what I want to do. The problem is accomplishing what I want. Making it possible without destroying myself.
I slaved hard to put myself back together, part of that was a desire to change the world.
I think of the Taoists of old who isolated themselves from society to perfect themselves. Or of Zhuangzi who turned down the position of advisor because he feared entanglement into court poltics. They were still pools in the river of time. When a Taoist did act it was overwhelming, they did not over extend themselves or tax the people into poverty. It was not personal ambition that caused them to act. But a desire to help others. A strange dichotomy for persons interested mostly in perfecting themselves.

Time to finish this drink, then perhaps a good book or a simple game.
Goodnight to all.

Bring on the New Year

The last week has been quite tiring. I expected to hit the ground running this year and find myself at a soft almost ragged trot. The ideal first step to this year is to appraise myself and my situation. So here it is.

Spiritually I have made significant improvements but I am not yet to the levels I have been before. Emotionally I am alot more hardy and ready to accept the punishment my new ambitions have to offer me. Physically I'm not doing so well, (mostly) poor diet and exercise have plagued me for some time and perhaps worst of all I don't feel I am performing mentally to the levels I should be. It's time to retrain and revist some of the old basics.

However the time I have for that is limited. Budget constraints and timetables prevent me from having unlimited resources to retrain and relearn. For the first time in a long time I face the problem of having to prioritize my time. Time with friends and being social is important. But so is self cultivation and enlightenment. I have to keep track of advances in my areas of study (of which there are many) and persue new ones to keep my perspective fresh. How I face problems of this size is important, small problems and adversities can bring down someone faster then one large problem. I find most often that it is not 1 problem that destroys an agenda or a person or an organization. It is the constant nibble of a dozen minor problems that bleeds the attention and the resources. Being able to deal effectively with small problems is an important skill.

One of the projects I want to finish before I move on to my larger projects is the dreaded reordering. Everything I have is in disarry. My saved games are not organized. My Digital media files are not organized. Pictures, Books, Writing, Research and even things as trivial as clothes. I've been disorganized and it irks me every day. My personal desire is for things to be clean and organized. Yet my family is dirty, messy and disorganized to the extreme. It would be easy to keep things organized if I put them away when I was done with them. If I filed them instead of put them on my desk to be buried. If I lived on my own I honestly feel I would overcome this problem alot easier. Seeing the disorder in the house somehow justifies it to me and brings it out. Now I think about it that irks me too.

Over time I have been shaping and reordering who I am. To some the change is apparent and even startling. To others it has been so gradual that they haven't noticed. It comes in a sudden epiphany. To others still I am the same or close to the same. I talk a good talk. I play a good game and I respect and honor my rivals even as I pwn and trashtalk them. The outside hasn't changed alot because people are comfortable with it. Yes I can be obnoxious sometimes, yes I can be egomanical, and yes I can even be confrontational. Yet for these traits I have been told that I am more positive, more fun, less cynical (Shocking side effect of being positive), more tolerant and all around better. People like me more now then they did a few months ago. And more then a few months before that. Personality can improve like anything else. I hope with age I can cut away that excess of obnoxiousness and that thick film of ego that prevades my social life. But then again I need alot of that ego. A comfortable sense of self and ego are vital if you are to work in a field as crowded and bloodthirsty as publishing. (people who refute this are naive.)
The ego is important if it is not excessive. Much as I hate to keep using that word over and over again.

Other small problems surface and each is sharp enough to scuttle my entire agenda. But most pressing perhaps is the current nature of who I am. From one perspective I am more complete as a person then I was in the past. I know who I am and what I want to do. But the nuts and bolts aren't all together yet. I have advanced more in the past month then the past 3 months before that. I am capable of loving once again. Something I thought I had lost forever or at least had been diminished. The strength of my spirit is strong and ready to fight and struggle. The failures, betryals and losses of my past have hurt me immensely and at the same time given fire to the core of my being. In a way I am tempered from that and many other kinds of hurt. I have the strength of my convictions to bring to bear and the passion in my heart is not abated by fear of failure or isolation. Yet... I do miss one thing. The infastructure for my new life isn't there yet. And my persona is trapped in the past. I still present myself as who I was. I still use the same systems, arguements and logic I did before. A large part of me has shifted forward and the rest is still stuck in the past. A large part of how I think, reason and decide. It creates a vague unease and uncomfortable feeling. One of the symptoms of this I will talk about now.

I've begun to have extremely strange dreams and nightmares recently. On a nap earlier I was convinced my truck had been stolen. The dream was so compelling that when I awoke it took me almost 10 minutes to realize I owned a car and it was sitting in my driveway. The images and situations within my dreams are so compelling that I believe them even after I awaken. Sometimes I forget who I am and believe myself to be my sleeping persona. I awaken to find myself alive or uninjured. I have even awoken to find that I did not have a beautiful fey lover beside me. As much as I love these brief escapes into unreality I know that this surge of intense dream activity is my mind sorting itself out. The images in my dreams are sharp and intense after a period of emotional and mental examination. I change who I am. And like the re-boot and defrag of a computer my mind has to make sense of it's new surroundings. The dreams are not all violent. Or all sexual, or all peaceful. Like the different and scattered aspects of a person they are all important in some regard or fashion. The fey lover is not an ideal mate. It's a fling for pleasure. The pleasure of an all out passionate love without consquences, the allure of their primal nature overwhelming to a human. Humans that are drawn taut by conflicting emotions and feelings. A deep relationship carries a different kind of feeling then a fling. How we choose to resolve these conflicts within ourselves is what truly defines who we are. My dreams are brutal and violent because in my past it was important for me to brutal and violent to survive. They are filled with images taken from my past, future, present and a world that is not seen: imagination. The eerie prophetic nature of my dreams is because my sub-conscious does not filter the content of my mind. I know what is coming, what is around by my mind filters it because it is inconvienant or even harmful. Of course sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

I am ready for this new year, ready to embrace a new persona and a new style to life. I am eager to prove myself to my peers, to my rivals and to everyone in the various facets of my expanding life. I'm finding new friends to replace old ones, new rivals to test myself against, new ideas to replace the misguided and perhaps most importantly I am ready to embrace myself. If you have read my blog beginning to end you must realize the self-loathing that came with my isolation and pain. The issues of trust I still struggle with aren't so easily defeated by they are starting to crumble. Perhaps many years from now I will be successful and famous enough to rewrite and publish this blog as a memoir. Someone who knows the pain of abuse, betryal, guilt, isolation, heartbreak and self-doubt will read this and realize that with effort and courage there is nothing you cannot change. First within yourself and then within the world.