Sunday, 23 December 2012

End of the World


So here we are, December 23rd 2012. Two days after the world was supposed to end, yet I still live and you do, too.

The world did not end. Or did it?

I turn on my television and I see a world in flames. Civil wars, polar ice melting, forests destroyed, oceans polluted, people wishing other people dead. Laws, rules and money are more important than people; lives are currency in a desperate attempt to preserve a status quo that has become the death of us all. The world is burning in the fires we create.

I once predicted the end of the Western world, but now I see that it is not just the West that is falling. It is the entire human civilization, and with it, Mother Earth.

I was mistaken - we were mistaken. The end has already come. The world is dead, and we are fighting over its carcass.

The New Age of the Mayas has come too late.

Tuesday, 10 January 2012

Funky Monk



Monday, 19 September 2011

Wednesday, 24 August 2011

Ode to naval rogues



The king and his men,
Stole the queen from her bed,
And bound her in her bones.
The seas be ours,
and by the powers,
Where we will, we'll roam.

Yo, ho, all hands,
Hoist the colours high.
Heave ho, thieves and beggars,
Never shall we die!

Yo, ho, haul together,
Hoist the colours high.
Heave ho, thieves and beggars,
Never shall we die!

Some men have died,
And some are alive,
And others sail on the sea
-- With the keys to the cage...
And the Devil to pay,
We lay to Fiddler's Green!

The bell has been raised
From its watery grave...
Do you hear its sepulchral tone?
A call to all,
Pay heed the squall
And turn your sail to home!

Yo ho, haul together,
Hoist the Colors high.
Heave ho, thieves and beggars,
Never shall we die!

Thursday, 21 July 2011

Abort, Retry, Ignore -- Poe Puree


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over user guides and handbooks piled up on the desk and floor --
As I nodded, after nine or ten straight hours of design,
I finely drew the final line, then pulled a floppy out to store --
Locked and loaded, then, I saved, and waited for the disc to store;
Only this and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I kept hearing such a sound it set me fearing,
Fearing as I sat there peering at the Saved Percentage score,
Fearing, as the disc kept turning, turning with a grinding, churning
Sound while I was yearning -- yearning as I'd never yearned before,
"Save!" I yearned again, but hopeless, read the words I'd feared before:
Read: "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

"What is this?" I barely muttered, "What's this message you have uttered,
Uttered as my floppy fluttered, fluttered locked inside your door?"
But there came no soothing voices helping me among these choices,
With these unfamiliar choices, just the cursor's either/or --
Just the cursor blinking, blinking for my choice of either/or
From "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

Much I marveled: this repeating cursor like a heartbeat beating
Answered nothing, thus defeating all attempts to re-explore
Whether I'd done something sloppy -- what had happened to that floppy
I'd inserted there to copy all the work I'd done before --
What had happened to the art, the artwork I had done before,
Before "Abort, Retry, Ignore."?

Art, not software, is my calling; it’s particularly galling
To be hesitating, stalling, stalling over one key more
When, instead of starkly staring, stunned, at high-tech so uncaring,
High-tech blindly overbearing, I could open up my drawer,
Get my low-tech colored pencils from their matching low-tech drawer
Beneath "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

But no, I had to get ambitious, buy some modern meretricious
Merchandise that leaves me vicious messages that seem to roar,
Well, not really roar, but tease, as, fingers trembling over keys,
I finally choose from one of these atrocious choices I abhor
A choice I know will be atrocious, one I finally must abhor
Among "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

No result! So twice as hard, to try and catch the thing off-guard,
I pressed, but still the same canard appeared until I nearly swore.
Frantically in desperation, pushing keys in combination,
Getting tintinabulation: "Beep beep beep", and nothing more,
Cacaphonous concatenation, "Beep beep beep", and nothing more;
Except "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

Then I thought I heard the thunder, felt the thunder rumble under,
Through, the floorboards, and no wonder! Lightning split the dark night's core!
Lightning piercing lightning slashing through the night like sword- wounds gashing
Darkness deeply, when my flashing cursor flashed! -- then flashed no more;
Flashed a final time and then -- erased itself to flash no more;
Erased "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

The lights went out, then came back on, and in the cold grey light of dawn
Profit and design were gone; gone, returning: nevermore --.
Gone my imitation Titian, like a ghost or apparition,
But gone as well the admonition I must choose and choose once more
Gone: the price of manumission from demands to choose once more
Among "Abort, Retry, Ignore."

Now my cursor still is blinking; is it winking? Yes! It’s winking! --
Winking at me from the screen beside the disc that wouldn’t store;
Winking at me from the black, though nothing else comes blinking back
Along the phosphorescent track that throws a shadow on the floor;
And my art, from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be found now -- nevermore!



Written by Marcus Bales:
link

Monday, 23 May 2011

Some random things I wrote during class today

Random I

Roses are black
Violets are grey
The world lies in darkness
And I go away.

Random II

I blossom into the light
And enjoy the world of day
Flowers and colours around me
Oh how I wish that I could stay.


By the way, don't worry: I'm not all this gloomy. It is just that I feel that the darker side of life is much more interesting for artistic expression, don't you think?

Monday, 2 May 2011

Murder

If we believe that murder is wrong and not admissible in our society, then it has to be wrong for everyone, not just individuals but governments as well.
- Helen Prejean, Dead Man Walking

After all, every murderer when he kills runs the risk of the most dreadful of deaths, whereas those who kill him risk nothing except promotion.
- Albert Camus (1913-1960)


Osama Bin Laden is dead. Killed in a well-planned mission by people in uniforms, with permission from the American president.

Just in time for the re-election of Obama.

It is fitting how so many of the American people, those ignorant sheep, celebrate the death of the most famous terrorist in our lifetime. Justice, they say, and revenge. An eye for an eye.

And what does the world learn? Do other terrorists now tremble in fear and see the error of their ways? Do children in the Middle East now see the American Eagle as a gentle loving giant, or as an agressive tyrant with a lust for Arab blood?

Do not mistake my words; the terrors the now deceased bearded man has (supposedly) unleashed are worse than any words can describe. Hundreds, thousands have died and many more have suffered, all because of him.

But to celebrate the death of another human being? To become the killer of killers? Not only is it pointless, for there will always be more killers, but it is also immoral.

To say that murder is wrong, and then to kill any who commit it -- such is arrogance and hypocrisy.

Mourn the dead, and seek to find true justice instead.

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

XP Hunters

Wednesday, 2 February 2011

Thursday, 16 December 2010

Webs of Passion

She caught me in her web.

I'm not entirely certain how it happened, but that little spider caught the big bad dragon and bit him, gently. Her sweet venom spread through my veins and limbs, causing me to succumb to her mystic spell -- and love it.

She is a fiery thing, my beautiful bird of the sun. Her desire, once kindled, burns wildly and demands to be fueled. I am but a servant to her fire, which sets me ablaze in turn. I live for our combined fire.

She spins soft webs around us while we make sweet love. No matter how alluring her hoarse whispers in my ear, she herself is much more lovely by far. Her softness, eagerness and sexiness know no bounds, and I crave to hear her moans and whimpers of pleasure as I stroke her and kiss her and enter her.

Never before has this little lizard experienced such a wonderful woman before, who challenges, seduces and stimulates him.

I love you, webspinner girl.



Tuesday, 30 November 2010

Big news!

The Dragon is blah.

Very blah.

Completely, irrevocably blah.

So.

Blah is the word.

Big blah.

Wednesday, 17 November 2010

Silent shadow

Two red eyes glowing in the dark night. Not a sound as the secretive stalker closes in on her target.

Quiet even for a drow, she moves gracefully behind the man's back, her poisoned dagger no longer conceiled.

One stab, and another. She whispers in his ear; "you shouldn't have left me, my love."

He gasps, grabs his torso but the blood does not stop flowing. His life, his essence, fleeing from his body.

The assassin leaves silently, letting the man die alone.

The man moans in agony, then smiles. The previously registered antidote kicks in.

So predictable. She will not bother him for a while.

It does hurt like hell, though.

Monday, 15 November 2010

Dragon inside

A new room, a new experience.

I feel like an explorer of sorts, a wandering spirit discovering untamed lands and encountering new challenges with every passing moment.

This place is alive, and although some have gone before, it seems as if none but me have been willing to discover everything. Unseen eyes are watching my every movement and sudden moves send shivers down a spine I do not see, yet sense nearby.

I have found pieces of the heart of this place before, and now I have found another. A large and brilliant red gem, it beckons me and whispers to my mind and body. Only a few parts seem to have been exposed recently, and I wipe away the dust on some others.

The hungry ruby grows as a tiny part of me is consumed, feeding the life of the warm stone and adding more and joyful colours to this place. I gain energy by its beauty, and pass it back to that welcoming aspect of desire in a marvelous cycle of joy.

The gem grows larger and demanding, and I am willing to provide.

I embrace it, placing it against my chest. I have just touched a few of the surfaces, and I am curious what those others will do.

My explorations continue, and I purr at the very thought.

I love this place.

Monday, 1 November 2010

Secret room

I opened the door and she let me in. It was new and exciting, and at the same time it felt like I belonged there.

She had given me the key, and it took me time and courage to use it. Claiming that I was content to stay outside and only later realizing it was not her I was fooling, but myself. I wanted to go inside, to share that room with her.

And now I have. Will everything change now? I cannot honestly say. Some things will change, others will not; which things fall in what category, I do not yet know. The future is moving and changing as we talk and act.

I do not make promises about "forever" because I am not forever or unchanging. And I don't make promises if I do not know if I can keep them.

What I can promise is that I will try my hardest to be the best person to share that room with. That I will want to make you happy -- or happier than you were before. That I will protect you when you want me to, and to let you be when you so request. That I will open up to you and be vulnerable at times, and be your playmate at other times.

Because I want to know you, all of you, and love each and every part of you. In our own secret room.

Friday, 22 October 2010

Goth is overrated

There's a blackness in my soul,
A stormcloud brewing inside,
And I am loath to live with joy
Ever since my goldfish died.

Now I've only wished to die,
And my heart has turned a charcoal-black
E'er since the pop machine stole my quarter;
Woe! That coin I'll not get back.

I nicked myself shaving just last week,
And as I observed the trickling blood,
I could feel my black and wretched soul
Ebbing with the crimson flood.

And now death can't come quickly enough,
To carry me away from the rain,
Because we're out of Rocky Road,
And my poor soul can't deal with the pain.


Goth Is Overrated
by ~DreamerOfShadows

Thursday, 21 October 2010

Lost in a moment

A moment in time, frozen and recorded in both our memories.

On your bed we lie, that comfy bed, side by side and curled up together. Both half naked and merely enjoying each other's company, and lingering touch. The world outside does not cross our minds.

Strange how such a moment is almost devoid of sexuality. It is the pleasant presence, not the simple carnal instincts, that make this moment so worthwhile; a feeling of peace, relaxation, freedom. No fear.

To be who we are, with no one to judge. Just you and me, vulnerable but strong, completely contented.

Your hand gently strokes my back, as mine caresses yours. Lost in a moment.

A true friendship.

Thursday, 14 October 2010

The Sad Tale of Nathan Nightwalker

Standing in the dark and quiet room, Nathan Nightwalker regained his breath. Centering himself in the Force, he searched his feelings.

Expecting joy or perhaps anger, Nathan was surprised to sense a morsel of regret, of sorrow even.

What did he expect? Obviously the challenge placed before him had been difficult, and overcoming it would take all of his capabilities and beyond, but the prize had seemed worth it.

The prize was a teacher, from whom Nathan could learn more about the Force. The subtle and the mighty machinations of the Force, his to use and control. To expand his knowledge, his skills, his power in the mysterious energy of the galaxy.

To become a true apprentice to the Dark Lord.

Perhaps he had not been ready for it. Perhaps Nathan had simply expected too much of it. After all, nobody can or will describe how it feels to pass the first test of a true Sith, so predictions seemed pointless. Nevertheless, Nathan felt strangely empty inside.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion, he reminded himself.

It wasn't passion, but it wasn't peace, either. Instead, a guilt formed inside his head, a knot in his stomach, that he had never before experienced.

Could he have been wrong in choosing this path?

For years, Nathan had been convinced that although the Jedi might have been wise and powerful, they were still ignorant of the true strength of the Force. Sitting in their temple growing lazy and arrogant, they did not seem to be the masters of focus. Not like the Sith of legend, who constantly challenged themselves, increasing their skills, practising their concentration, growing more dangerous with each victory -- and each defeat.

Nathan had never craved for victory or power. He had merely longed for the fulfillment of his talents, to not be held back by ancient rules and out-of-touch theorists, to feel the wind through his hair, the sun in his eyes, the sweat on his back while he perfected his body, mind and control over the Force. To be who he truly was.

Now, here he was. Switching on his lightsaber, Nathan looked around and in the dim blue light of his blade saw the ancient glyphs and imagery on the walls, depicting ferocious beasts towering over their many fallen foes, stealthy assassins stealing the life of their victims, and fires burning away Jedi temples.

This ancient burial temple seemed a fine example of Sith filosophy, and Nathan felt out of place for the first time.

Stepping over the remains of the two Jedi sent after him, he brought his face and his blade close to the image of the burning temples. Tiny twodimensional faces screamed in eternal silence as the hungry flames consumed both stone and flesh, leaving nothing but charred remnants and ashes. Sith warriors cheered around the scene, relishing in the terror and deaths, absorbing the darker essences of the Force to increase their power and in turn, increase the havoc they wreaked.

Taking his eyes away from the gruesome scene, Nathan surveyed the room. It was an antechamber for the large ceremonial hall and it had probably been dark as well in the days the temple was still in use with the ancient Sith, serving as a portal to the inner sanctum and reminding acolytes and apprentices of the power and the horror of the dark side.

The two dead Jedi lay somewhat in the middle of the room, their brown cloaks covering their faces. One still clutched his saber as if in defense, the other Jedi's lightsaber had been cut in half by Nathan's parry and both parts were near the wall.

He had known both Jedi, of course. One was his former master at the Jedi temple on Coruscant, the other a padawan apparently desperately wanting to prove himself by "redeeming" the runaway Nightwalker. It had been a long and tough fight, both mentally and physically, but in the end they could not match the power of the dark side that flowed through Nathan.

His Sith master would be proud. Nathan would be reborn as a Sith, and would be granted a new name, a new persona that would represent his metamorphosis from Jedi to Sith.

He recoiled at the thought.

Turning off his lightsaber, Nathan welcomed the darkness. It did not erase the image of the two lifeless forms on the floor, though. Personal growth through the death of another. Two souls who would never reach their perfection, cut down before blossoming. Two people not unlike Nathan, killed by one whose own progress was deemed more important than theirs.

His mind realized the finality of his act, and this time there was emotion. Guilt, shame, regret, sorrow; a dawning understanding that he could never go back to being that Jedi he had once been, so full of ambition, anger and joy, without forever regretting that in order to advance himself, so many others would suffer for it. The wound torn in his soul would deepen and fester, until either it would impede his progress or make him vulnerable to new generations.

In the Sith organisation, being vulnerable meant being dead.

Neither could he return to the Jedi temple, Nathan knew. Of course the Jedi taught forgiveness, but even if they would do so, and even if the looks of Jedi both old and young would not follow and haunt him, and even if he somehow found the courage to follow the rules he had found so restrictive before, he doubted he could still live with the guilt in his heart of willingly killing two Jedi.

Through the Force, my chains are broken.

There was nothing now for Nathan except the Force. The Dark Lord waiting outside the ancient structure was surely too powerful for him to combat, and what would be the point of trying? No, he realized, there was nothing for him now. No Sith, no Jedi, and no escape.

A tear found its way across his cheek, and Nathan savored the emotion that guided it. At least he was still human. Enough to know that he had come to a fork in the road, and he could choose neither path.

Only one option seemed open to him, and he sighed. Sitting himself down on the floor, Nathan Nightwalker wiped the tear from his face and turned the hilt of his lightsaber so that the blade would point towards him. Placing it against his chest, he calmed himself.

He whispered, "the Force will set me free."

A heartbeat later, he ignited his blade and fell lifeless to the floor.

Wednesday, 13 October 2010

Monday, 27 September 2010

Friendship

It's a word I use often, "friend". I consider quite a few people to be worthy enough of such a title and hope that they return that honor.

Funny thing, that stuff called friendship. Because what makes a friend a friend?

Certainly it is not merely helping you out if you're in trouble (parents often do the same) or sharing a laugh with (random strangers will suffice). And I hope friends are not the only people you grant favors to without expecting something in return within a short period of time.

So what is the substance that creates friendship? Certainly, it is a connection, a kinship, beyond any other. There is a genuine joy to see the other person happy, without envy or jealousy. It is delighting in seeing a friend grow, mentally, to blossom into the person they should or want to be. To fulfill their dreams is a like looking into a fractured mirror, and seeing a part of you being grateful. It is to live more than just your own life, but to live and enjoy through the eyes of friends and substantially increase the joy for everyone.

And of course, it is being there for someone when asked, and particularly when not asked. To be a friend, is to know when to lend a hand or a shoulder to cry on. To pick them up gently, and whispering encouragement in their eyes when the road of life seems too rough. To give a friend the strength of mind, the self assurance, to walk on. Over the mountains, if need be.

A friend is a guide through life, who does not know the way any more than you do, but will help you go on anyway.

Spirit in you

Under your skin there's something beckoning
There's something that makes me believe in you
Behind your eyes, that where the sacred lies
You know I need to get through

Oh here I go again
Through the undergrowth again
Feel the earth move, the planets spin
But I can't get through

It's the spirit in you
It's the spirit in you
It's the spirit in you
That I want to find

I've seen your face, the one your mother made
Now let me see what makes your really move
I know you're scared, I know it's tender there
Just let me closer, let me get through

Oh here I go again
Through the undergrowth again
Feel the earth move, the planets spin
But I can't get through

It's the spirit in you
It's the spirit in you
It's the spirit in you
That I want to find

And when you make me feel
When you make me bleed
My lucky stars fall down on me
You know I need to know you
I need to see
I need to take a hold of what's underneath
So close your eyes, unlock your mind
Throw off the fear, and let us fly

Oh here I go again
Through the undergrowth again
Feel the earth move, the planets spin
But I can't get through

It's the spirit in you
It's the spirit in you
It's the spirit in you
That I want to find

~ Spirit in you, by Heather Nova
from the album "Glowstars"