This is the way the world ends?

fou @ 2006-09-07T23:58:00

2006-09-08T03:58:40Z

For the next two minutes, it's still my birthday.

I'm 22.

Damn.

fou @ 2005-11-29T01:59:00

2005-11-29T07:01:33Z

I am a wonderful person.
Opposition is True Friendship

Don't avenge my death; Wussy Dan knows not what he does.

fou @ 2005-08-24T15:46:00

2005-08-24T20:46:02Z

It's been quite a long time since I updated. Sophomore year ended without any great fanfare or calamity, and an impossibly huge summer set in.

I finally secured employment in the most menial of positions, the gem of a job that is referred to only by the most august of names: the Bag Boy. Sitting squarely on the bottom of the Supermarket totem pole, the Bag Boy is a mix of janitor, gopher, and customer service, the kind of expendable position that functions as extra grease in the gears of the great distribution machine; they're not what would be called 'necessary', but in theory they make everyone else's job a little to a lot easier.

The problem is that while the job requires few-to-no actual skills and a cheery attitude to make it work, it's usually filled with three kinds of people: The mentally handicapped, surly high school students, or total psychopaths. This means that when a reasonably polite person who can follow two trains of thought at once gets the job...they're showered with praise for their mediocrity.

And so many of my hours were filled with pointlessly smiling, cleaning floors, dragging empty carts around, and occasionally carrying some slightly senile old lady's grocereries to a waiting rest home bus.

Time flies when you're having fun, and during the job it absolutely crawled. This situation was made worse by the fact that most of the time my friends would either be busy when I wasn't working, or everyone would want to do something at once...so I'd end up snubbing one group for the other folks. Roleplaying didn't get into full swing until much too late in the season, which is a pity given the quality of the d20 modern game that finally got going.

To top it all off, my girlfriend and I both worked rotating schedules and live two hours away from one another, so there was not NEARLY enough time with whosyourmegami .

Enough of that whining, though! Actual summer events!

This is the type of event that would have really merited a post all its own, had I been in the proper state of mind for it at the time. I knew it would happen eventually; the man was eighty, had bone cancer and half a dozen ailments stemming from said malady's treatment, along with a wife that dragged him across the world in what seemed like total ignorance of his condition, and that he had a long, full life, but like my mother said, "Eighty years doesn't seem like enough, does it?"

He was a kind, loving man who gave me some of my best childhood memories, but who I never knew well enough do to my father's hatred of my mother's side of the family. The last time I saw him we played cribbage, and I'm ashamed to admit that I still can't remember the rules.

I wanted to put more here, but I've found that writing about it has become oddly difficult.

So! On to...

Or, rather, hanging out at the beach and then Otakon. Thanks to sinat2212drws, the week before Otakon included a wonderful time with the girl down at the Bethany Beachhouse his parents own...</span>

I'm hopin' for a good year.

More to come once I'm there.

fou @ 2005-04-04T02:52:00

2005-04-04T06:53:41Z

whosyourmegami's) birthday! </span>

fou @ 2005-04-01T22:03:00

2005-04-02T03:04:01Z

We saw Sin City today.

fou @ 2005-02-24T10:28:00

2005-02-24T15:46:24Z

I find myself out of Shakespeare 330 several minutes shy of my next class, but not enough to make heading back to the dorm worthwhile. Or, at least not worthwhile given the snow coming down in copious amounts that will never stick.

Bother.

And so I've decided to inflict some Shakespeare on all you poor blaggards who have me friended.

We just finished watching the Lawrence Fishburne version of Othello in Shakespeare.

For those who haven't seen it...I'd put this behind a spoiler tag, but it's the Moor of Venice. Iago's a bad guy. Othello does kill his wife.

For those of you who were justgoingtoreadittomorrowereallyandIjustspoileditforyou...sorry.

It takes the most depressing, heartbreaking play in the Shakespearean canon and manages to somehow invest it with more emotional involvement, make Iago sympathetic on a visceral level while at the same time underlining his horrible, horrible aims, and to top it off the sets and costume design are wonderful.

The cast is also almost painfully good. Really. I'm not sure who played Desdemona, but I think she had the platonic ideal of purity hidden in that hair of hers. Seeing her unfairful persecuted was heart wrenching. Kenneth Branagh played Iago with more sympathy than I thought possible for the character and just the right amount of venom.

Come to think of it, I have yet to dislike any of the Shakespearean renditions that Branagh has done or been in.

Fishburne is wonderful as the titular character, though he seems almost flat when compared to Iago or Desdemona. This is more a comment on how good they were than anything else, though.

And now it's time for Philosophy of Science.

fou @ 2005-02-20T16:24:00

2005-02-20T21:24:26Z

I apologize, all of those who are have me friended, but this is the sort of thing that burns to be free of LJ cuts!

~Fou~

LJ friendsCollage.

Brought to you by pratibha75 and teemus.

fou @ 2005-02-17T00:42:00

2005-02-17T05:55:04Z

I have never read Naked Lunch, though a forlorn copy sits on our bathroom floor like some sort of bizarre used sock. It's an ungainly book, this edition of Burroughs, yellow and crackling and vaguely obscene. This is oddly appropriate, as the first words of worth in the book are about the obscenity charge that its author escaped during its publication.

I say I have never read Naked Lunch and I have not, not beyond the forward by another man or at least not beyond Burroughs confession of a sickness, a sickness that was addiction to junk, to opiate and to drug, at least not beyond his assertation that the hallucinogen is holy just as surely as the opiate is profane.

I have never done anything. I have never drank, I have never snorted sniffed injected swallowed smoked eaten of those things. It may have been a concious decision that I once forgot; it may have been a long string of subconcious decisions that appear, from the outside, like a choice.

I have no desire to imbibe and consume and don a new mask still wet from its birth and to be something new and false; some say the opposite occurs, and I wish to remove this old mask even less, as I am no longer aware whether or not there is a face beneath it.

I am addicted to time, wasting and devouring precious minutes and seconds in harmful, hateful, hellish waste activity, slaving away at a stove of nothing and reaping nothing for the cost of moments and instances.

Sometimes, I waste people.

Once, I was with a girl named Marietta. I think I loved her. I was horrible and left her, and that piece of myself that she has I have never seen since.

Once, I was with a girl named

hailgreatmoloch

and we were happy and we loved one another and then in summer I made a mistake and she still has that piece of myself but we still talk, and sometimes she lets me see it so it's ok. Her boy's name is 'Pip.'

And now I am with a girl named

whosyourmegami

and I love her and we are happy and she has a piece of me

And that's quite wonderful.

And I realized that I hadn't posted in so long but so many different people had friended me for reasons I cannot guess at, so I introduced myself again.

This piece of me is public. You're welcome to use it, if you need it.

fou @ 2004-11-03T10:14:00

2004-11-03T15:15:40Z

"A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves money from the public treasure. From that moment on the majority always votes for the candidates promising the most money from the public treasury, with the result that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy followed by a dictatorship. The average age of the world's great civilizations has been two hundred years. These nations have progressed through the following sequence: from bondage to spiritual faith, from spiritual faith to great courage, from courage to liberty, from liberty to abundance, from abundance to selfishness, from selfishness to complacency from complacency to apathy, from apathy to dependency, from dependency back to bondage."
- Alexander Tyler

September Eighth, now...

2004-09-08T05:05:09Z

And I'm twenty-and-a-day. It's a bit odd; no gifts recieved on my birthday, though my folks and friends at home had already gifted me for that. I am richer a sombrereo, a gaggle of nifty little gifts and two CDs from my parents, and the cutest litle octopus ball thing from the Squibbet. Thanks, all of you!

Involved in a bit of rough and tumble with one of my Dorm Mates; mutal combatants indeed!

Not as sleepy as I should be; it may be a long night.

Mind Map Thingy!

2004-08-15T14:33:38Z

Order a MindMap, elect a President!

MindMap

I do find that my own methods have defeated me.

2004-08-10T03:32:00Z

Edit: Whining Bitching removed.

'cause it was whiney.

A boring event post

2004-07-04T17:50:52Z

My father shanghaied me into going with him on a ride into Philadelphia yesterday. I am, by nature, a gregarious creature but I always feel a particular disquiet when amongst the teaming masses of the city (or town, or village); outside of my own little tribe, I am quite stripped of my ability to communicate effectively or at all.

Example:

Myself: "Good sir, I would like to procure a job at your fine pet store."

Myself, as seen by the proprietor: "Err, sir, umm *strange unearthly syllables too garbled to be made out.*

The Pet Shop Owner: "Rebecca, I do believe that I am being accosted by a poor young man who seems to be afflicted by hereditary mental deficiency, or perhaps brain damage suffered in a blow to his rather unshapely head. Please give him some candy and show him out."

Rebecca: "Fucking retards."

Example the second:

Myself: "Excuse me, strangers, but I seem to be lost. Could you direct me to the memorial arch?"

Myself, as viewed by the prosaic couple I've just verbally accosted:
"MWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!"

The Man: "Good lord, it's bigfoot!"

The Woman: "I'll beat him off with my shoe, honey! Get the camera!"

Luckily, however, the trip into Philadelphia was lacking in any sort of communication with anyone except my father. He was in a nostalgic mood, and on the way to an auto-parts store one of his co-workers told him about, he detoured into the navel yard.

It's an interesting place, like a crumbling little city in the heart of a larger, crumbling metropolis. There's not too many active buildings there now, but the bleached bones of an older, statelier creature are still there if you look hard enough. Many of the warehouses there are strangely beautiful, dating back to the turn of the century and before; instead of the utilitarian look that is most often associated with warehouses of any kind, and indeed, the United States armed forces, they are beautifully decorated red brick buildings. Even in their decrepit state, even amongst the slow decay of time and the purposeful destruction that is underway to reduce costs, they maintain a dignified, final nobility.

Utterly unlike the rest of the city.

We never found that auto-parts store.

fou @ 2004-06-20T00:08:00

2004-06-20T04:16:28Z

I find myself, by and large, halfway between wasteland and the stars
Past milky gardens of red and white, ash meadows and comet fields
Over brillant mark and sable sluagh, hurtling through the cavernous sky
Away from what and into what I wonder

fou @ 2004-06-19T23:22:00

2004-06-20T03:23:32Z

Sometimes, I look at the shape of the world, its curves and bridges, and wonder how there are so many metaphysical car crashes that come together about my ears.

My mind has tied itself into a knot

2004-06-17T14:50:55Z

And now even the emotions don't make sense.

We are not (just) seeing the death of a former president...

2004-06-11T15:31:08Z

We are seeing the construction of an eidolon, the manufacture of a secular god from a once living, once extant man. His adherants clip and prune away his failings, his unfavorable foibles, his very mortality, only to take the remnents and remove them from actual history, fostering legend around his metaphysical remains.

This happens to all men who have left a following behind, but the astounding part is that beyond all reason, beyond all the hopes of philosophy and free thought, the majority of the country is accepting it. The 'liberal media', the national community, all of it has accepted this bizarre dream of a man they'd call Reagan.

This is more befitting of a Roman Emperor than a United States president. I fear that in the centuaries to come, at some point, there will be a cult, a sect, a religion dedicated to this now-fictionalized man.

And to think...he told us that ketchup was a vegetable.

Blar!

2004-06-07T20:38:29Z

I am short one Marianne, otherwise known as the Squibbet, and my muchmuchmuch better half, and have found myself utterly incapable of finding anything to do without her.

Of course, there are things that need to be done like figuring out this whole 'driving' thing, and more (doomed) attempts to find a summer job...but both seemed doomed.

I've been scribbling some, but can't seem to seriously write.

The gravestones and bodies went tumbling through the air in a manner most unseemly for a place of eternal slumber. It was understandable, though, given the great force that welled up from below that seemingly accursed place, which burst through the neatly kept lawn of Final Acres with nary a thought to Chamblis, the gardener’s, work.
“Dammit,” said the graying man, as he watched all his carefully arrayed work go to waste alongside several metric tons of ornamental granite and marble. “You’d think there would be someone to handle these sorts of things.”
But, of course, there isn’t.
As the air finally cleared of dirt, various vegetive bits, and the odd embalmed limb, Chamblis watched with some consternation as a howling bit of darkness pulled itself out of the gaping hole which the cemetery had recently occupied, and proceeded to heave itself onto the ally which bordered the now defunct grave site. The gardener note, with a churning in the pit of his stomach, the many tiny mouths which opened and closed so quickly, a palpable hunger accompanying each tooth-filled gnash, and the writhing patterns of blackness which seemed to spill off the creature slowly dissolve the surrounding scenery.
“We should,” mused Chamblis, “have some sort of a ‘no necromancer’ policy here. Perhaps a general ban on all black magic...” Mumbling to himself in much the same vein, he hoisted a large, sharply edged shovel from the nearby tool shed, and began to edge out of the quickly diminishing graveyard at a crisp paste, until he stood on the corner of Twenty Third and Cobb.
It was a nice street, despite the tendency of stray animals to congregate in the bushes that had been so carefully planted on either side of the rather picaresque lane, and so Chamblis was dismayed to see the creature slowly slide onto the white expanse of the road’s accompanying sidewalk. “There REALLY should be someone to handle these sorts of things...” the gardener declared, before he began jogging towards the many mouthed thing, shovel raised.
Sometimes, for a brief moment, there is.

See?

fou @ 2004-05-22T01:14:00

2004-05-22T05:16:20Z

I'm thinking armed revolt.

fou @ 2004-05-21T23:50:00

2004-05-22T03:53:13Z

Argh. Apparently, my allergies allowed this rather malicious chest cold to seize control of my respritory system, leaving me the poor victim of merciless coughing fits.

I haven't been able to sleep for the past few days because of the coughing, despite industrial strength cough-drops. I'm only up right now because the alternative is staring up at the ceciling, coughing, -still- awake.

They gave me antibiotics, but so far they've only helped a little bit, during the day. I know, logically, that I have to let them run their course to work...but that doesn't make this feel any better.

Arrgh.

One of these days...

2004-05-21T00:01:21Z

I need to attempt to harness some great, beyond human power for the sole purpose of losing control of it and having it run rampant across a world totally unprepared for its emergence or even its existence.

I'm thinking maybe something beyond the stars OR something sleeping on the sea floor. Great Cthulhu, Ia Ia Hastur Faghn, and all that.

This is, of course, just to have someone accuse me of tampering with things beyond my control and have no idea of what I was doing.

At which point I would roar with laughter, float into the air whilst shining with unearthly power, and madly proclaim that "YES! YES I DID! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!"

And then I'd kick them in the face.

This is obviously a brilliant plan.

I am beset by my father's hobgoblins; his demons are all drowned in alcohol and catfish

2004-05-17T13:17:17Z

I feel unjustly oppressed, as it were, despite the lack of any real oppression. Yard work upon yard work, under yard work, before and after yard work.

I have moved more mulch than is strictly healthy (for either myself or the yard.) I have decided that I do not enjoy moving material as it decomposes.

I hate you, big mower. I know you plot to flip and kill me!

That particular bit of complaining aside, I've enjoyed hanging out with the Squibbet this past weekend, and seeing my maternal relatives. Li is just the cutest little kid, but her folks don't come up from Kansas often enough.
The folks seem to like the Squibbet, so that's good.

Blah. More yard work to do, and I'll hopefully write again when I'm more coherent.

Bwah?!?

2004-05-14T17:37:58Z

Dean's list!

Don't know how, don't know why, but damn, that almost makes up for my painful facial sunburn! ...Almost.

fou @ 2004-05-12T20:29:00

2004-05-13T00:30:28Z

Today: Worked 8:30 to 4:30 as inventory monkey. Did not get 'prentice job, DID get paid for the day.

Bit cranky. Sleepy, from previous days of yardwork.

The story of a Sword and a juncture, and the brief return of Gravity Angel.

2004-05-06T03:59:05Z

In 1995, there was a collusion of the heavenly bodies, a conspiracy of energy and time that would briefly set the threads of fate askew, and allow them to be rewoven by one who possessed the Knowledge or the Gift.

Possessing both, and some foreknowledge of its coming, I finally decide in the late spring of 93 to make the mad dash for control of the juncture, drawn to the possibilties inherant in such an event like a moth to a flame. That particular metaphor is more than apt to describe the situation: At every such juncture, the forces in motion are both numerous in number and variation. Government agencies, so deeply cloaked that their very existance is suspect mobilize for a conflict they don't understand. Would be occultists with scraps of knowledge dredged from the unlikliest of sources descend on the places of the juncture like flies, obscuring the real players: Adepts with the Knowledge scheme for it, the poor souls with only the Power crave it without knowledge of what they desire. Those with some of each would be the most likely to succede in grasping control of the juncture...if not for the fact that we almost invaribly end up wasting our strength and subtly on one another, so some schemeing would-be demiurge grasps it, or a Power-driven innocent who has no idea what he has done.

These are the reasons that I spent so many of my years in training, often in self imposed solitude. Though I would rarely admit it to myself, I wasn't actually trying to grasp enlightenment, transcendence, or any sort of the bunk I claimed to my disciples or the rare compatriot I could stand, but rather I was trying to become unbeatable. I developed only the strangest, most esoteric abilities, claiming them as footsteps on the path to enlightenment when in actually they were merely stranger methods of attack; methods, I hoped in the dark recesses of my mind, that would allow me to bypass the defenses of my peers and lessers.

As the junction approached, I walked in the dark places of the world and the starry roads in the sky; places that cast a pall even over the occasional innocent with a touch of the Power who wanders into one by accident. By one like myself, attuned to every nuance and subtly of their existance, it was like being taken apart and reassembled. Once, I stared up at the moon and screamed, as I felt my very self unravel about me...

But I digress.

(Continued later)