The Fable 2 Rant

Fable 2 has a lot to live up to. The first game was fun, but pretty flawed, and the promises it hefted into the sky were so unreachable that any downside of the game felt like a knife to the stomach. It should have been well known how impossible those feet’s were, but they were what was promised, and it wasn’t what was delivered. Lost Chapters came out to remedy some of the problems, but it introduced even more glitches, and just furthered the formula rather than expand on it.

Fable 2’s advertising and development campaign was far more low key, so expectations were low to begin with, which makes the game a delightful surprise.

You start the game as a lowly urchin in the streets of a big ol’ fantasy city. Your sister guides you through the events of the prologue which introduces you again to the idea of good and evil choices. Every introductory quest has a good way to complete it, and a bad way.

This introduces part of Fable 2’s split personality. You have an expansive array of choices, but they’re all black and white, good and evil. You can be a saint, or you can be a prick, there’s no third option to any choice like a game like Mass Effect, which skews morality into all sorts of shades of gray. Fable 2’s morality system is still as binary as the previous game. On the other hand, the game still keeps this in mind and tries to run with it. A choice you make as a kid will decide what the old town you grew up in turns into. Either it will slip into corruption and poverty, or it’ll become a lawful and peppy place.

Furthermore, there’s ANOTHER meter of choice in the game. Aside from good and evil, you also have purity and corruption. The second set of choices apply mostly to economics. For instance, I could have a hero fully on the side of good, but charge 100% more on rent on all properties that I own. The game would reflect this with character interactions, in that people would always know that I’d do the right thing… but for a price. Also, you could flip that around and be a super evil son of a bitch, but with max purity, meaning you have a very strict set of morals in your evil doing. Again though, it’s pretty binary, in that you have five or so options now of morality, instead of two or three.

The story of the game also isn’t really anything to write home about. It functions perfectly well as a means to string you to event and event, and some of the set piece moments are pretty well crafted, but the combat in quests sticks out far more than the story itself. The way the story presents itself is kind of nice though. If functions much life the Half Life games do, in that you’re rarely ripped away from directly controlling your character. This amounts to basically running in circles while a poorly animated character prattles on about the mission objective though, but it’s nice to just always have fully reign on your character, and helps establish a better flow than the previous game. Also, you can skip dialog at any time by holding the A button down for a few seconds, which means if you’re sick of chatter and just want to start cutting things up, you can avoid all the blabber and just get right into the thick of things.

Speaking of combat, it’s awesome. While morality is pretty strict in how you operate within it, combat is immensely free form and you can tailor it to your heart’s content. It’s very “casual,” though I’m not sure what that word even means in the realm of video games now, but here it means that it’s pretty easy, and every method of combat is assigned just a single button. That’s not a slight against it though. Basically, it’s a system that gives to you, as much as you put into it. If you just flail with your sword a lot, you can beat the entire game doing that. Or, if you pull off more advanced sword techniques, then you get a bonus in the amount of experience earned. This applies for all aspects of combat, so after an introductory period with the three aspects, you really start to build down a path that feels best suited towards your method of play. For instance, my character had moderate strength and good speed and ranged damage, so I could flourish with melee attacks quickly, and instantly pull out my turret pistol and nip at foes from afar. I screwed with spells a bit, but didn’t feel that into them. Thankfully, the game never punishes you for whatever style you use. If you take to one method, you can use it from the start of the game, all the way to the end.

Overall, Fable 2 is a game that is defined by “screwing around”. It caters the experience towards how you screw around, so it’s always encouraging and rarely punishes you in any direct fashion. The already thin story falls to ruin by the end, but I found it easy to forgive, as I still had a ton of side quests on my plate, and I still wanted to buy up tons of other stuff. There’s a goof heft of meat to Fable 2, though I can see that as the series progresses, it may become more and more like a Grand Theft Auto game in a fantasy setting. This iteration alone basically wants to give you the feeling of “here’s a big world, fuck with it as you see fit, in any fashion.” And that’s the richness of the game. I play as a pretty decent fellow, but I’ve already seen a friend play an evil character, and was surprised at how different his play style was, and how different the world around his character was.

Another thing that’ll alter gameplay from the first, is the dog. He can be annoying at times, but he’s really well animated, and… well, basically really sells you on his… dogness. If you’re cruel to him, he’ll cower with his tail between his legs and keep his distance from you. If you’re nice, he’ll be bouncy and peppy and constantly give you that “are we going to play now?” look. Your morality will also affect how the people in the world react to the dog. If you’re a jerk, you can have him help you scare them, or a person will randomly kick the dog when he gets close. On my super nice guy, he’d run up to people barking for attention, and they’d pet him and tell him how well behaved he was. The dog also acts as your means of finding important things. He’ll find spots to dig for goodies, he’ll bark and alert you to treasure chests, and he’ll growl when foes are near.

It’s rare that it happens, but stuff like the dog help give Fable 2 some genuine heart string tugging moments. Major events will spark the game to auto save, so when you’re given a major choice, or face a big event, whatever path you took, you’re stuck with it. This can seem annoying at times as you can reload to see the other side of the fence, but it works in that it actually forced me to think about the consequences of what I did. There’s also some really weird stuff in terms of story direction towards the end. As you near the final encounter, you’re not presented with a grim and horrible look at the death and destruction being wrought, instead you’re presented with a quest called “The Perfect Day”. It’s interesting how the game tries to contrast itself, but it still stumbles a lot along the way.

It’s annoying that two games in, and Fable has yet to build properly on the foundation it always tries to establish itself on. However, again with the split personality thing, the improvements made to many aspects of the game are still vast, and combat’s gone from something that’s decent but not fantastic, to easily one of the high points of the game.

But what’s most strange is what the game feels like as a whole to me now. Fable 2 strikes me as this goofy mixture of the Sims, and a fantasy game. Most of the amusement I had with the game came not from any epic encounters I was faced with, but instead just came from dicking around with various aspects, like managing my family, finances, real estate, outfits, and experience points progression. Fable as a series would be well suited if it would fully embrace this aspect of it, and made the game a bit more gray, instead of good and bad. There’s a lot here that addresses many of the flaws of the first game, but with that, it introduces a whole new set as well.

Also like the first Fable though… it manages to be very fun and endearing in spite of all the bad design and glitches.

The Grave Renewal

What once was freedom and idealism has passed into a gray twilight. The skies darken and the temperature drops. Dust falls from the sky like snow, covering everything, bringing about a unified landscape, blanketing all that was once different and unique.

The plants and the trees start to shrivel and shrink back into the earth. They wait for better times, when the sun will shine for them once more, and they can emerge different, improved in every way. Their dawn is long from now, and the twilight is ever present.

On the porch of a once life filled cottage, a rocking chair is covered in ash and dust. It can’t remember why it was crafted, or who it was that relied on it for rest. A calm perch amongst a world it didn’t care to look after. From the chair in recent days, it saw no more blooming flowers and trees swaying gently in the wind. Instead it saw the ever expanding hazy empire of buildings.

The last thing that shall move and stir is that of a child. He steps from the home and wanders as far as he can. The lifeless forms of his parents do nothing now. They can’t smile at him, they can’t tell him to go to bed, so that everything could be calm and normal in the morning.

He flees for safety. Instead, he is set ablaze and suffers slowly, as have all others.

He cannot remember how this came to be. The consequences he is forced to endure were not to be placed on his shoulders, but while others were content to ignore, the messes they had accumulated were not going anywhere.

Long ago, in a room, elderly men fought for the future of women and children, those two the ever more precious resources they squabbled over. To their eyes, to their suits and ties, everything was a resource.

To secure the interests of those represented in the room, the poor were sent in uniform. Over the horizon they saw a beautiful city, and then, a brief glimmer of light.

Those in the room shouted, and each syllable carried with it the weight of a dozen dead men. The intentions of those men were given different meaning.

The means to send so many to such different places, was something only they knew of, and only they controlled. They would shout slanderous words in an effort to rally those to their cause. Poverty for the sake of this unknown and unending substance becomes a self perpetuating cycle. It for some pointless reason, forced this dying child far off from friends and opportunity.

One tragic moment, and for this little soul, he may have well died years ago. Those with look down upon him… a wretched creature they would say. They would do nothing while his parents starved.

It could be one last moment of solace for the child, to know that those whom put him in such a terrible place are now gone. It was cast by their hand… but he just doesn’t want to die…

And neither did they.

As the ash and dust fill his lungs and eyes, he does not cling to the specter of vengeance, and he does not wallow in victory or pride. He thinks of his parents, and wishes that he could muster up enough energy to cry.

The empire of the city is gone. An empire driven by imaginary numbers and value. The trees are hiding from the fall of this empire, for they know that the footprint will last far longer than they’d wish. It will in time fade though, and they will cling to it. After so much time passes, and the sun punctures the cold sky and brings warmth and light with it again, the trees won’t even remember the face of the rotted child as he tried in vain to keep breathing.

The room where the elderly men argued will become a meadow. No bickering of fictional resources and population control will remain. Instead, dear will forage though it, and the birds will nest in the trees and sing.

The sky will brighten a world long forgetful of the sins of the past, it will forget that the last one left to shoulder the burden of ignorance, was one that could do nothing but suffer for it.

The spot where his bones slowly melted back into the earth will be covered by dirt and grass and little else. It was once a road… and now, it is nothing.

Looking At the Wall

Ain’t nobody around, I’m here and I’m bored. I’m just trying to understand the folding paper before me. I’m looking at the screen, but the interest seems to lack. Modern man, apathetic and desensitized to all things. A million souls could have died, a species could have gone extinct, but why should I care? I’m out of snack food.

I took a shot amongst the grandstanding salesmen of the world, and found my voice to be quite pointless. Swimming against a tide, jumping from the river, and right into the claws of the bear.

I took a swing but went out on three pitches, my ideas not solid enough to fly, the people around watching hope more for failure than success. See it in the tabloids, and other such filth. People want to see other people suffer; pretend they’re better than them.

Since they’re not around, I can laugh and pretend there’s no one to let down. I can’t say I’m really shocked, it’s a decent change of pace.

Start the chanting, I want to hear the lines drawn in the sand. It’s a wonderful tone that speaks of bickering and inane reasons for the pointless.

Since they’re not around, I have no one to talk me down. I can’t say I mind at all, they were never good friends.

Climb on their backs, smile to their face, and see how well you can fake it. Is it so hard to fake it? I think not really, Spew out bullshit long enough, and eventually you may actually believe you’re right.

Once again another mess of emotions, I stand by the side and watch as they burn away their cares. Once again I’m a bystander, and my intentions are slowly rendered meaningless. I could see it as the motions began, like the building tension as the roller coaster climbs towards that first drop… and then it’s all downhill from there.

A sudden burst of inertia and I’m flung so far forwards, trying to work it out as I run down the road, finding my place as my belongings are shattered and torn. And they keep pulling me down, trying to find out why I’m still around. I hear whispers of my inability, but I’m just trying to act the part. I hear whispers of why I’m still around, when I should be asking that question myself. Once again they’re enslaved by the motions, pondering how well they’ll fall this time.

The winters keep passing me, sucking the years away from my mind and making me see the past as a road ever growing. So much of me lost along the freeway, so much of my importance not inside my head. The scattering of my ashes soon flashes before my eyes, and I wonder will it have been worth it?

The expenditure of such a short life span ensures they’re all jam packed with pointless and useless conquest. Rape the world, our desires, everything, consume like it won’t be there tomorrow, because as far as we know, it won’t.

Ain’t nobody around, and I’m still thinking as to why I’m by myself and I’ve got next to nothing on my mind. Several fading generations have sprung up and flown away, expanses of time that seem so long to us but are nothing but the blink of an eye.

Aspire and expire, two notes and so easily played out. The wonder and amusement cast before another generation. I look at the wall and wonder if it cares that I’m thinking these things.

Ain’t nobody around, I’m just sitting here by myself, and I’ve got nothing else coming to mind. Ain’t nobody coming around, and I’ll just sit here with too much on my mind.

Out Of It

I’m pretty late to its release, but I just downloaded the new Brad Sucks album “Out Of It”. It’s brought me back to a sort of new line of thought on music and how it is consumed this day and age.

I hate the “indie” label, because for whatever reason it’s now used by hipster douche valves as a genre label, instead of just factually stating that an artist operates without being signed to a big name label. (How odd, “indie” used to mean “independent”.)

However, I do enjoy a lot of independent acts. From chiptunes, to nerdcore, there’s a very vast array of music out for consumption that’s far easier to obtain these days.

Shit, I got “G.A.M.3” on my iPod, the third collection of songs from people on GAF. It has no real reason to exist, but there have been some pretty choice cuts in the collections as far as electronica goes.

Jonathan Coulton (JoCo) is another artist I’ve been checking out a lot lately, and he’s another good example of a guy that “gets it”. When you visit his site, you can look at his entire collection of songs, and listen to any of them in full right from the site. Fairly priced bundles are available, or you can snip single tracks from the site for a buck each. Or, if you just stole all his music, he has a tab for donations in case a person liked the stolen product enough to support it.

Brad Sucks I think really has it down. When he first launched his site, his CD “I Don’t Know What I’m Doing” was up as a free download. More impressive though, was that when the album was ready for a real professional like release, he still left it up to download for free, leaving it up to the fans to decide if they’ll buy the MP3’s, the album itself, or just download the MP3’s for no cost.

This also applies to the new album he’s released. Better yet, the price for those who want to buy is completely up to them. You can buy all the MP3’s for a couple of bucks, or chip in 30 bucks to support the artist. Keeping focus on fans, you can also download the source material for all of Brad’s stuff as well, which has spawned a lot of remixes of his tracks.

This sort of community focus for music I find very comforting. Music, for most of the 80’s/90’s had become pretty faceless. Napster obviously shook things up quite a bit, (before selling out) but that impact has remained.

Contrary to popular belief, the impact wasn’t that people could steal music for free. If you look at the Pirate Bay’s website, you’ll see people will steal anything over the Internet these days if they can. The true impact was that between music itself and the user, and it’s why someone like Jonathan Coulton can amass a cult of nerdy fans to bring half monkey half pony dolls to his shows. (Not to mention all the awesome “Re: Your Brains” videos from PAX.)

Truth is, that sort of faceless bland development for music doesn’t work as well anymore, which is why artists on major labels these days aren’t presented as artists, but product. No one can listen to rap these days and consider it actual music, but there’s a ton of indie hip hop around that carries a far more “pure” spirit than any mainstream shit.

Music these days has entered a sort of weird flux. Television I imagine is next, (Hulu.com is so awesome) but music seems to be first on the internet’s chopping block of shit that’s due for a major cultural overhaul.

But most of all, the indie scene shouldn’t just be viewed as some measure of elitist snobbery that shuns the mainstream simply for the sake of it. The breadth of content out there, and it’s levels of pointlessness and obscurity and style ensures that there really is something for everyone these days.

Only about 4 years ago, I used to snub ANYTHING hip hop related, assuming in my head that the modern rap/crunk scene was all it really had to offer. Now I adore hip hop, simply because it’s actually possible to find so much of it that can appeal to me.

In fact, prowling different opinions and looking over You Tube and such to check out different artists is something I do nightly these days.

I’ve got no time to make you believe me
Set in the sun for someone to leave me.
I’ve got so much time to take it easy
Now that I am on my own.

Meant It All

The plan so simple, but so easy to ignore.
The places we went, standing there on the floor.
My hands grasped at you, and swatted away others.
Falling down, my words condemn me.
I meant it all.
I meant it all.
All I taught, all I came from.
I meant it all.

The cityscape bore as much beauty as you.
The plans I held would make us rise above it.
Under the water my eyes not so clear.
Under the sky my mind not so clear.
Attentive, but never when required.
Dismissive, but not at a good time.
I meant it all.
I meant it all.
All I shouted, all I demanded.
I meant it all.

Trees tumble down and the road is clear.
My sight shifting from different things
I held that which brought it all into focus.
I wondered if you could still hear me.
I soon realized I was clinging to nothing.
Your grace so far removed.
Your words burning.
I meant it all.
I meant it all.
All I killed, all I grew.
I meant it all.
All I taught, all I dismissed.
All I demanded, all I ruled.
All I saw, all I broke.
I meant it all.

Zero

Baby shower, birthdays, Jesus Christ I want this month to end. Still no job, still no new place lined up. At least sports are being kind to me lately.

Current ideas I need to line up: (I’m keeping this short as I’m writing it from my Laptop away from home.)

1-Sketches, if only to motivate myself, get a picture in my head beyond the vagueness I used to swim within so freely. Sentinels from Eternal Engine, Hatter from Merritt Island, Guardians from Eternal Engine… Oh, and some scenes as well. Get a general sense of the muted rusty/blue/orange themes for Merritt Island.

2-Touch up my “children’s tale”. It’d work well as is with illustrations, but I don’t have those on hand, so I should most likely just beef the content up a little bit before posting it.

3-Start writing down the ideas I have for that comic. Being limited to what people are involved/when they’re involved will bring back that sense of “shoestring storytelling” I used to have with Shadeless Sky.

4-Finish up with the sample work I got going and put out the “Merritt Island” soundtrack I’ve had cooked up as a new audio experiment. Thinking about adding some strange ranting and/or background ambiance in there as well.

5-Renew subscription to Xbox Live.

6-See if anyone in Napalm actually raided Gruul’s Lair Friday.

7-get home in one piece. Well, home’s a very poor choice of words. Return to Kyle’s pad in one piece.

8-Take a good deal of nights to think instead of write, I’ve got a lot of shit in my head to work out.

And God is empty, just like me.

In Arrears

Considering I tend to go off topic at the drop of a hat and find new trains of thought quicker than a bumble bee on meth, I’ll actually try from the outset to put some structure into this entry. Let’s see how well that works out.

1: General bemusement
2: Information on new projects
3: Thoughts on growing old

To start things off, my new iPod has been getting a lot of use already. As I sit here, it’s at song six in the new Ten-Song playlist, the Smashing Pumpkins “Tonight, Tonight”, followed up my MC Frontalot’s “In Arrears”.

Speaking of which, I’ve been listening to the Front’s new album quite a bit. I wish to have enough cash upon its actual release to be able to afford it. I’m still very headstrong in supporting independent artists whenever possible. I guess because maybe in some weird way I could qualify as one? Blah, I hate thinking about writing as an art form, creative or otherwise. Also, I’m about 100% sure I won’t be able to get it. Still, I enjoy the mixture of serious with goofy fun shit. Song’s like In Arrears and Black Box touch upon really deep stuff, whilst songs like Canadia (featuring Halifax rapper supreme Jesse Dangerously) and Diseases of Yore (with the wonderful crooning of Jonathan Coulton) are just straight up goofy and fun. Secrets from the Future wasn’t just a good follow up to the Front’s debut album “Nerdcore Rising”, it absolutely blew it away, showcasing that beyond the gimmick, there was real talent behind the recordings. The new one seems to be just as strong, as Front and the crew around him only get more adept and more focused with each album release.

Now about new projects… or the better known subtitle for this topic “how fucking crazy am I?”

First, as I’d hinted at in previous journals, the new project is titled “Merritt Island”. An homage to Silent Hill, while still trying to maintain the feel of my own horror universe that I’ve been crafting for eons. Basically, I decided the best way to feel out some of the problems, is to pull Third Horizon into this current offshoot to try and work out some of the themes and such. Much like Silent Hill, the focus of the story is short on dialog, and heavy on self reflection. The few unique things I can lay claim to I still want to brandish about though.

For starters, while the title of the story also rips off SH (using the location as the name of the story) there’s no weird fog or so such. A unique tropical setting means a hurricane is what has emptied the island. Though obviously that’s just on the outset, as the few people left are all insane/demonic.

While the previous (and finished!) draft of Third Horizon also took place in the same city, the hurricane was mostly a ploy for emptiness and removing the need for social interaction within the story. There were very few “weird” moments that took place in that draft, and all of them were driven by the main character’s insanity. The new version instead thrives in “bad land”, twisting and perverting normal every day locations into shrines of self torment.

Also, with the inclusion of more characters, I’m forced to act upon an older draft of the story again for themes. Mostly in that the main character isn’t the only nutcase around, so things that were only hinted at in other drafts get to come to light now. The thing that draws everyone to the soon to be obliterated and desolate town is some horrible crime that’s been held inside for too long. So I can’t just focus on the sins of one character now.

In the end though, the core of the story is really mostly the same, I just haven’t really found the proper way to write a horror story yet. The first draft of Third Horizon played out like a reality TV show with monsters, and the second one was mostly just one character reflecting on his past. This spin-off gives me the chance to just go nuts and do whatever, with no worries about the core story getting messed up (amazing what a simple name change can do).

Hey, look, I’m actually keeping this on track like I planned!

So my birthday has passed, and after the elation of free goodies and cake, comes the afterthought, much like a hangover. I realize that 22 is actually a fairly youthful number, but when I look at the pace of others and what they’ve accomplished, I still feel like I’ve done nothing but waste time, as though my entire life has been a series of missed opportunities.

I suppose the one that’s real easy to dwell on is the one that matters the least at the current moment… also the most ironic. I’m 22 now and still very single. At times, such as when I fall asleep and wish for someone to be at my side, I understand that sort of raw need to have someone around, but when I get to those moments where I dwell on it, I remember that I’ve pretty much remained that way according to my own whim.

Granted I can only think of about three cases total (one though was very much recent) where a female has actually been interested in me in a degree that’s even obvious to me. But the problem is the people I seem to attract are NOT the kind of people I even want to SEE on a regular basis much less get intimately involved with. Intentional celibacy is a strange place to be in when you’re in a world that places nearly zero value on love. But, my morality and conservatism stand on separate bridges that our society has yet to find common ground for. I suppose it’s not that I’m sad that I’m still alone, but more that I just haven’t found anyone actually worth sticking around with. Then again, I feel that a lot in general now. I seem to be at a point in my life where I’m losing more friends than I gain. That need for contact often conflicts with my desire to be alone, but I’m well aware that it’s mostly just because of the company I’ve kept for so long.

For instance, when the only people in the house are Kyle and Tara, everything seems fine and okay. Frankie gets home and him simply being around brings a level of annoyance that sparks ire and angry thoughts with everyone.

Perhaps I need someone around just to keep me from offing myself? I’m aware that when others are around, I’m so caught up in the noise that I don’t focus on the things that make me depressed. Like a drug, but one that doesn’t have any good high. I exchange annoyance for self loathing.

But that’s just one thing, not really a primary issue that’s been cropping up in my mind. Most of what I feel is this general sense of uselessness. I matter to very few people. My day to daily is mostly spent trying to find a place and not disturb anyone. I bring no money or fame anywhere, so when I’m around, I never have a place to speak, which means I often don’t. Even on my birthday, I notice how easy it was for me to fall out of the conversations being had by all. There are many moments I look at where I can remove myself from the picture and see it not making a change. One day while playing Warcraft, Tara offered me a bowl of snack food, and I said thanks and took it, but something that simple, made me feel so shitty. I don’t like being pitied. Even if it’s well intentioned, everything I’m offered here only serves to make me feel worse.

I’m not the kind that can mooch and enjoy it. I’m well aware that there’s far less economic burden here with me gone.

I’ve seen a few people around me talk about jobs being offered recently, and it was funny, because they talked about it RIGHT to my face, absolutely knowing what kind of horrid financial state I’m in… but then went on to talk about other people they were going to assist in getting said job.

I’ve always disliked myself, but I keep seeing it from weird angles lately.

There’s the shy kid that won’t speak up when someone breaks in line. Polite to the degree where it’s very much a physical detriment.

There’s the philosopher that’s given up on childish dreams like hope, and has come to grasp that humanity will face its own end because of itself. A man who’s view on the human race borders on hatred.

There’s the person wounded so many times that “trust” is a word that seems like it came from a fairy tale. So embittered by his experiences in life that he’s lost the will to care about anything.

There’s the mistaken artist, one who’ll listen to a song and spend the entire day contemplating the placement of strings and electronics, and how they’ll create new images within one’s mind.

And finally, the failure of a writer. Listening to a podcast recently where a guy leaving his job writing about video games sort of went about the trials and tribulations of creative writing. Pondering his own experiences freelancing for a terrible failed gaming site, emerges a person who realizes that written words are seen as mostly pointless in modern western society.

I look at all angles of who and what I am. Constantly wondering what kinds of impressions I leave on people, and why. I once thought the other day after saying something stupid, that what I just did was not what I wanted as a reflection on what I am. I’m looking back with curiosity at the mistakes of my past, and wondering what I would have done to focus the world on me, to see THIS, and not the quiet bullied kid that exists like too much of a stereotype.

The philosopher in me says “What does it matter? Time is not malleable, and what you leave behind won’t even last as long as memory. All traces of all people will one day fade.”

The sky kid in me says “If only they knew what I was really like, if only I could show them what I’m really thinking.”

The artist in me thinks “so many around me, and they’ll never ask the questions I question, they’ll never feel the flow of the rhythm and creativity like I do, and I pity them for that.”

The embittered man in me thinks “What does it matter? If they don’t know me, it’s their fault, and it means they’ll likely never care enough to know.”

The writer in me thinks… “Why am I wasting my time on this, what is it going to accomplish?”

I’m asking them all the questions as though I’m sitting at a round table with myself. Different layers of thought and time colliding into a chaos that I’ve spent years trying to comprehend. But in the end, after all these years, other layers have only added to the confusion.

I try to sit around and watch humanity surge in the same yet different directions, and I wonder why I bother contemplating that, when I don’t even understand myself.

Spin around.
What does it do to your inner ear?
Your account:
Don’t pay the dues? You are in arrears.
What I’ve found
Is we get just another day or two.
Falling down?
Dizziness does that to you.

Change the World

So very tired…

Want my brain to stop yelling at me, that’s keeping me awake.

Didn’t get to watch kickoff for Football season save for all of three minutes of the fourth quarter in a couple of games. That didn’t really provide me with much joy either.

My head’s been less manic over the last few days… not to say that’s a good thing, as I’ve just slid back into a normal and steady depression. Haven’t eaten in the last couple of days, my stomach’s screaming about as much as my brain is… just want to sleep.

See yelling, see anger, don’t care much myself. Bleed for me, or bleed for nothing. I enforce the standards that everyone else wants… me, me, me. Confusion and struggling, I just want to sleep. Provisions have been made, keep ‘em out, this is the dance that makes them all fall down.

No conclusions for a sound.

The icons we cherish, idols and monuments built as abstracts for nothing other than personal self awareness. But that awareness isn’t projected outwards. You can kill with no thought given to it. Someone takes from you, and suddenly guilt, regret, awareness finally shows up. Insular… just like me.

This is for me. This is me. No more stories to tell, no more fiction, no more smiling. I see other people smile, and I want to strangle them. Project into them everything I’ve been forced to endure, all the bullshit I’ve seen, slung about my shoulders because I was willing to give everything. When the apathy of my world is replaced, I want to see hope, or those few good things whispered into my ears. I feel only anger. That very same anger I used to lament in others, but I lie to myself, say I want to direct it elsewhere. I know what “elsewhere” is.

I sit in what I guess I could call my bed, telling myself it can’t be real, that everything will open up and the sky will fall, bringing with it all I’ve ever wanted. It’s a game I’ve played for years, a little pathetic gesture to keep me alive. Even those dreams I used to play out, worthless little fantasies of a better world… even they rot in my brain now.

A tender smile cast my direction, but I scoff, and react poorly, stretching out with violence and hate, showcasing what I really want, against a blood stained visage of all I ever needed. Two such disparate things that create the same creature. A different kind of Prometheus, smiling with malevolent intentions. Product of our perfectly wonderful modern world.

I don’t want pity… not anymore. Words whispered away from me as to how angsty and pathetic I’ve become, I couldn’t give a shit if I gave it all the effort in the world. No one’s given an inch, and I’m not willing to budge much now either. Worry for their selves, and just or unjust, it leaves me on my ass. I’m a hair away from being outright homeless, and right now, I’m thinking I’d actually prefer that as an option. Just cut myself away from everyone that’s pissing me off. Find some new place to rest my weary mind…

Those dreams oft dreamed of, they never came. The days longingly hoped for, they never came. Couldn’t find my place amongst others, couldn’t find a career, couldn’t find a place to sleep, call my own. I could have had a little bit more… shit, could have had a car. The doors that’d open for me alone…

Ashes to ashes, dreams to dust, and the world around me is now covered in rust. The trick is to keep breathing, but this place is sweltering, so even that becomes a challenge.

I just want silence that can last long enough for my mind to grasp it. I used to be my own protection… I used to shield away the horrors of the world with a unique and whimsical brand of logic… but as the clouds move closer, and the days grow shorter, I can’t really feel a thing. In my darkest hours, I’ve reached out for help, for understanding. All I ever found were meaningless words, and more reasons for my heart to ache to a different life.

I burn like the ashes of a cigarette in an ashtray. Smoldering, dreaming of setting a forest aflame, but doing nothing, going nowhere, not bright, and fading more and more. The dreams I used to have, of what I would be… just that.

I scream because I have no voice. I hate because I have no hope. I cry because I have no allies. I’m bitter because I’ve had years of getting kicked around under my belt. I spit venom at everyone, because I’ve never seen a reason not to. I’m spinning in circles, because I’d rather do that than face desolation.

No solutions… No answers, not from on high, not from the earth around my feet. No praise, no hands to hold, nothing but crawling after having lost the ability to walk. Punched in the stomach, but still going onward, wounded and ill. So very tired…

Like some notes cast before the cosmos before my death, I keep writing these like I have something to say, something of value to give… but this is all that’s left of me. Every last fucking shred of that nice little kid has been bled out. All the dreams he had have died, all the good memories are like the taint of another life haunting my own.

Calling me home… wherever that was. Like some sort of vague image. Logically, my brain says I’m looking for Merritt Island, but when I ponder that, I feel revolted. I’m just trying to remember, what was I called? Never stood in the spotlight, always playing second best, the arm everyone could lean on and pay no attention to.

“Do you like this?”
Actually, in some kind of sick way… yes.

“Is it always the same?”
Yes…

“Will you remember my name?”
No…

Because no one will remember mine. I could leave this place tomorrow, telling everyone here that I’m just going to walk off into the distance and drown myself. They wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t be a burden any longer to them, so why should they shed a tear?

The few people I interchanged and referred to as friends, they all went their own way. Only ever got back in contact with one for a small moment, just to go about two seconds of an IM conversation that was basically nothing more than “Hi… okay, bye”. None of them exist to see the ruins that are left of me. I should be thankful for that… but honestly there’s no solace to take in such a thought.

This is all the salvation the world will afford me. Pointless little bits of depressing abstract thought cast out into a realm that’s anything but subjective. Everyone’s got their heaven waiting for them, their own image of salvation. I don’t look in the mirror and think “what happened?” I look in the mirror, and past it, and I see what will happen before it all ends. Cry! Show the world what you’re not-so-unique talent is, shoulder it all, and cry like there’s something bigger than you! I’ve found their salvation. It’s the lies I used to feed myself. All the little words spoken only to myself to ease my mind into somber, peaceful, sleep…

I don’t like the way I whore out my suffering in these, like my thoughts mean so little. I resent the ways that even I suffer. But that doesn’t stop it. Just like kind words don’t make hurt go away.

Just like writing all this solves nothing.

Truth be told? The only reason I’m writing this, is because I can’t trap my mind with those false dreams of what I was holding to fall asleep. This is my new drug, when slumber won’t find me… contemplating endless sleep, and partially hoping that I’ll find it.

I see the way the salesmen stare into the sun
I stood and watched them as they fell off one by one
And everyone’s so blind
They’re not to help mankind
Reach into your bag of tricks and pull another one
You don’t wanna change the world like you say
In it for yourself, no one else
You’re ready, saving yourself
You’re gonna change the world

Aria of Lost Words

This one’s actually pretty old. I’m not fond of the tale as a whole considering it dives far too much into themes I repeat too often. Still I liked the turn from the intro to the ending, how the ranting of the girl’s problems are actually just the insecurities of the man that has to deal with her, his own unknowing casting a lot of doubt and confusion. Still though, the rest of it stinks of “been there, done that.”

-     -     -     -     -

She’s yelling, and she’s not quite sure why, but feels in her heart it’s justified and within reason. With the grace of the moon crashing into the sea, striking with the fury of an apathetic king, her words melt on the floor and make the sky crumble.

She waves the white flag, but she’s still fighting. She’s in prison, but she still makes the flowers grow. She’s as charming as police brutality, with the grace of a saint.

She’s traced a path that takes her nowhere, but is quite sure that’s where she wants to be.

She’s yelling and fighting, kicking and screaming, and she’s not even here. Her words carry the weight of an anchor, but fly just as well as one. Her ears are as astute as a bat, but chaos is all she hears.

She was a fondly hated friend, and a very approachable enemy.

She had the voice of a goddess, but the inflection of a moron. She was of sound body and mind, but without trust or steady company.

She wanted normalcy more than anything else, and was revolted when it happened.

But… she broke past that… everything changed.

Everything was just like her. Fire and water, smoke and a clear sky, everyone’s words soon fell flat, painting the pavement with nouns, verbs and all the like, converging to construct a useless babbling text.

A close lover, but never in my bed, a darling caring person, but never around…

The world turned into her, and it was horrible, the duplicity of the universe as it was turned on its head, sparking revolution and civil obedience.

It’s not horrible because it’s what she wanted; it’s horrible because it’s what I wanted. Everything reminded me of her, and now it will all do so in a physical manor as well. It feels like truth, because it’s one of the best crafted lies of all time.

I do it to get into her head, because I can’t get her out of my own.

But she’s content in this world, I’m the one that tears it apart, screaming as my words fall flat, painting a useless text she’ll never read.

What’s worse… is as I’m enveloped in this pain, she sits beside me, smiling with glee. Her words fall flat as well, mixing with my own, both still utterly pointless.

She whispers softly in my ear, and I have no idea what she’s saying. Something about this being all she’s ever wanted. Was I ever a part of that, or was I just a bystander?

I never doubted it all existed, but as the buildings fall apart I wonder why. She doesn’t care, they crumble and fall, and she giggles whilst grabbing my arm.

I never put much faith in jewelry and kind words and soft sung sonnets, basking in the mid day sun. So I suppose when I pine for those things I have only myself to blame, and she’s eager to agree.

I’ve been waiting for a third act forever, some sort of finality to clear my mind of this chaos. She’s an albatross, but not a figure of luck, a rogue that has affixed its self on me.

I step back and her eyes turn black. She smiles fire, and the city burns around her.

I’m beyond that point of wondering what I could have been, or what she was like before this. Instead I leave hand in hand, content to sit and enjoy the pain.

At least for now…

To Another Abyss

I’m not so stressed, but I am aware that some kind of breaking point is soon upon me. Clock struck 12 and I could feel September sink in like a rock in my stomach. There’s a lot I need to figure out this month, and if nothing comes to fruition? Then… I’m outright screwed.

I mooch off my cousin today for a couple of trips for fast food, didn’t ask, just tagged along. I think he has some idea about how bad my situation is, but at the same time, I’m also aware that he can only do so much. He’s got to pay to have his wife’s new car fixed up and getting it on the road and such, along with other shit, and all I do is add further burden to this place. I can’t provide anything to anyone. Fuck, come the next few days, I won’t even be able to eat on my own anymore…

All As One

It occurs to me that posting these little explanations before throwing poetry out there is often helpful, so I’ll often add annotations to them, such as this. The current piece is actually two other bits I’ve made butchered into a single new poem… that I guess is about some dude on fire and a girl he’s mad at? Fuck, I don’t know. There were two themes to each of the old poems I cut up to make this one, so from four themes, came these two. It’s obviously a lyrical piece, so no complaints about the rhyme scheme.

-     -     -     -     -

All As One

If I wanted the truth, I wouldn’t be here today.
If you wanted the truth, you’d end this display.
I could be sent to hell, to climb its bowls and be here once more.
I could do all of that, but I’d only be trading hell for a war.
I could do that, but I’ve already done it before.

Your arms mean nothing to me now.
Just a game that I allowed.
Everything is fine.
Nothing is fine.
Duplicity…

If I wanted you back, I would have screamed out your name.
If I heard your words again, I’d only hear blame.
I’m stuck in your world, and it won’t stop burning.
Trying to find stability in a storm that won’t stop churning
Still trying to yell at the world to stop turning.

Your eyes mean nothing to me now.
Just my fate left, and a broken vow.
Lies whispered in my ears.
Truth is all I could hear.
Direction…

If I wanted to see your face, I’d scratch it into the wall.
I remember making you smile, but how, I can’t recall.
I’d butcher the crowds, set them to their flames.
It’s easy when you don’t even know their names.
See them fall for you, the end of all the games.

I remember you used to call out to me when you were asleep.
You’d wake up in fear, and I would sit there and weep.
You grabbed my neck and told me not to go.
I smiled, even then, but it was all for show.
Now I’m in the midst of the fire, and all you say, is “no”.

Your hands mean nothing to me now.
I’m stuck here, and I’m not sure how.
I don’t mind, why don’t you save me?
I don’t mind, why don’t you hate me?
I know what you’re saying.
All as one… move as one.
All as one… move as one.

Ariak’s Lament

The following is general musing in the first person prospective of a character of mine, talking about absolutely nothing at random intervals, to help better establish the character in my head. Though, I will admit, I always feel weird writing a female character from the first person prospective.

-     -     -     -     -

Let me tell you, they will replace themselves one day. No, I told you this, I screamed it at you! I told you everything, I wanted to make it clear, but you weren’t listening to me.

I screamed for your name, but all I heard was my echo.

When I touched down this planet screamed.

When you got back they all cheered.

I bled silver and white, I cried tears that made mountains crumble. I couldn’t recall your name.

Replaced by their children, replaced by their machines, replaced by their greed. The eternal, it exists through iteration.

Wonder ‘Bout

When I try to sleep, I often pursue strange thoughts. Chains of thinking that all lead into one another, but I have no idea what direction I’m facing by the time sleep finally claws at my brain.

Cat circles my feet. I wonder, why do people domesticate some animals, but eat others? People that run shelters for dogs and cats most likely eat at fast food places like the rest, should that be ironic? Or, is it just that being cute makes for a handy survival trait?

I have no reason to think that, but I do. I am surrounded by a lot of pointless drama, and I see the cat around me. Maybe this is why he’s here? This small creature sees through a lot of bullshit. He’s perfected the art of not giving a damn.

Sight From the Tempest

Everything is going up. Everything is fine. Everything is going as planned. Everything is fine, fine, fine.

Everything is going down. Everything is in chaos. Everything’s in disarray. Everything’s a mess, a mess, a mess.

It’s a tropical storm, hooray! I love storms like this. Pouring buckets all day. I find a break in it. It’s time to leave, time to stretch my wings and take flight from this broken home. I need serenity, like only the chaos of a storm can bring me.

Jump! (The Braid Rant)

THIS RANT WILL SPOIL THE STORY OF THIS GAME BIG TIME, SO YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.

I’m not really one to consider video games as art, but Braid puts quite a dent in my argument.

First of all, it looks absolutely wonderful.

A unique visual style that pays great homage to Super Mario Bros., the game presents itself as a platformer at first, but it’s really anything but. The game is, by its nature, a puzzle game… but not only a puzzle game, but the kind that’ll make you tear your hair out trying to figure out a solution. Getting the puzzle bits in each level though is wonderfully rewarding, and it makes you feel like the smartest person in the universe.

But what’s so appealing about Braid, is how it weaves an interestingly tragic tale in a package that looks all happy and fun. It introduces a mechanic that is as essential to the gameplay as the story is to the game mechanic.