Nothing more than feelings

Victory!

I had feared that things were looking up for me. Insane you say? I agree.

While I wish for things to turn out better, in the long run, I am an artist. And an artist's primary tool for their art is passion. Artwork can never be called such unless it possesses passion as its primary focus. Art without passion is like a relationship without love. And I have experienced both.

So, as things progressed from crappy to stable, I found that nothing was driving my art. What am I supposed to draw? What am I supposed to write? Am I supposed to go out of my way to find things that affect me in a negative way? This only proves to defeat oneself.

Now, it is true that there are positive passions. But these I have not experienced for quite a while. I recently found a job, but it really wasn't something I had to strive for. It was not an achievement, merely a step.

So, it happened. Another crushing blow in this boxing ring called life.

I may have mentioned earlier that I am ruled by passion. And, to a greater extent, women. Rejection is not something that is a foreign concept to me. But, I take such care to avoid it, that when it happens, I become crippled.

Success at last! Emotional limbo is no place to dwell. But emotional euphoria is delusional. At least I hope so. I hope that I am not only supposed to experience it once in my life, when I am too young to appreciate or take advantage of it.

True artists are tortured souls.

So let the emotional self mutilation begin!

MidKnight, you are pathetic.

I know, but I am my kind of pathetic. And one that I have no interest in you changing.

* * *

The man who stands before Gregor and yourself is large. He is both tall and broad of shoulder. He wears a dark-grey cloak over, what you guess, is medieval armor of some sort. He occasionally shifts his weight, but there is no noticeable metallic sounds. Likewise, he was able to approach you both quietly and without effort.

His voice is deep and strong, but not overly powerful or forceful.

"Forgive me for disturbing your conversation, Seeker Gregor. But I require a moment of your time," he says.

Gregor looks to the large man, "Certainly. Give me just a moment."

Gregor then looks to you, "As an Observate in training you do not have an identity. This man is currently not either of our subjects for observation. But, occasionally, personal lives interfere with Observate edicts. As such, you are to remain silent and do what we do best: observe."

"But first," Gregor looks back to the large man, "introductions are in order."

Gregor motions to you with an open palm, "This is an Observate in training, has no identity, and will only observe." He then motions to the large man in the same manor and says, "This is Graustein. He retains no family name due to being raised in a holy order from birth. And he would have attained the highest position of leadership within his current order if he had such desires. The order he was raised in is able to perform miracles derived from the power of God and belief in him to become Paladins. Since those days, Graustein has joined with an order that is able to perform atrocities derived from the power of Lilith and belief in her to become Blackguard. He has finally found his place in an order that maintains balance in the natural world derived from the power of Death and belief in it/her to become an Unpaladin."

The large man, named Graustein chuckles softly, "Gregor, you Observates never fail to amuse me. Yours is, by far, the greatest task any human could hope to undertake. And I hold the recitations of your order in high regards."

Gregor nods at Graustein in recognition.

"If you don't mind me asking," Graustein begins again, "who's tale were you just reciting?"

Gregor pauses and it is apparent that he is not confident in telling Graustein.

After a moment of looking from you to the ground and back he finally looks Graustein squarely in the eye and states, "Venge."

The once jovial expression on Graustein's face melts away to one of stern seriousness. Graustein looks at you with a clenched jaw and speaks through clenched teeth, "Let me tell you something about that man."

Gregor looks as if he is about to cut Graustein off from speaking when Graustein raises a hand to silence him. He lowers the hood on his cloak and says, "No, Gregor, this Initiate needs to hear this. It may be biased. I may be biased. But, what did you say to me once? Outside observation is sometimes needed to gain a different perspective? So here it is."

"Venge is possibly the most remarkable human being to ever be created on this earth. Since becoming an Unpaladin, it has been my quest to send those who would run from death, to the afterlife judgement. These people are commonly referred to as the undead."

"Now, Venge is technically one of them, but he is not. This is not what makes him remarkable. The first thing was his ability to forsake the gift of life bestowed upon him by the combined will of God and Lilith. His sheer will to die overpowered that of his creators. I am not talking about a suicide through any unnatural assistance. He just willed himself to stop living. And you may think that this is not such a hard task, that the elderly do it all the time. The elderly do not die because they stop living. They die because their time is up and they expire."

"Second, Venge is possessed with vengeful souls. And I do not mean this figuratively. All the vengeful souls of all eternity are trapped within his mind. They guide him towards their ultimate goals of revenge. They educate him and provide him information that he can use to free them from their eternal emotional incarceration. And, once again, by his sheer will alone he is able to keep these entities in check and maintain his own sanity."

"And lastly, Venge possesses a love more powerful than anything that has been recorded. When God and Lilith wished nothing but love and true love for Death on her most recent embodiment, Venge was fated as the recipient and provider of that love. So true and so powerful is his love for the entity know as Death that he could create realities that rival the present creations of God, Lilith and Death. Luckily, Venge considers himself just a man. A man who longs for a love that he may never again receive."

"How am I sure of such things? I hunted him for a long time with the intent to slay him. I observed him in possibly as much detail as you and yours are trained to do. In our final encounter I was set to deal him the final death strike when something happened. Reality changed. It is incredibly difficult to describe what happened. I have been asked if it was possible that he infected me with his insanity. The only response that I can provide is that I was trained extensively with the Order of Paladins, the Order of Blackguard, and the Order of Unpaladins to be immune to such things. But, if a man who is insane can create his own reality, would not his reality also become insane?"

"All I can leave you with is that Venge possesses the greatest love which drives his personal passions, which in turn gives him the will to do anything. It is fortunate for us that his love, passion, and will are set to free the souls trapped in his psyche so that he may spend another moment with Death. He will do this until he no longer needs to. It is unclear as to what will happen when his time finally does come. I just hope that I can be a witness to it."

Reflection

If I were to look upon my life and give it a rating, I would fail to do so. I would become bored with it and most likely forget that I had to rate it. If you were patient enough to sit through it all, I would have you recite the best parts.

But in recitation, the human element taints the truth. But truth is really only a perception after all. 30 people watch the same 5 minute scene and are interviewed afterwards and asked to recite what they just witnessed; 30 different stories are told in varying lengths and details.

We take from our life the bits and pieces that we wish to retain. Parts that usually fall in the extremes of our experiences. Of those, we place a high priority on our firsts. The rest we store away to later dig up and regurgitate as a memory or and chance to be empathetic.

I will never know what it means to be you. I can, however, try to know what it's like to be like you. If I cared enough.

Why are humans the only animals that show their teeth when they are happy? And why do humans reflect so much? Is it not enough that we learn? Or is that the nature of humanity? That we are to learn what we can and reflect on the things we cannot.

I have always stated that I act approximately half my age. Am I really saying that I am emotionally retarded? Did my mother not love me enough? When you strive your whole life to hold onto the basic needs of life, the luxuries get left behind.

And why, oh why, can I not draw something every time I put pencil to paper? Inspiration constipation. What I want and what I get are rarely, if ever, the same thing. When they are, I call it miraculous and cling to it as if it were heaven sent.

Boy, I just can't stop laughing at myself. Because if I laugh hard enough it makes me feel better when others do too.

Right. Writing before bed but after work is not productive.

Idols (cont. finally)

Anyhow, I have come to terms with my dilemma from the previous Idols blog. I had two choices; either dwell upon something that I would not possibly be able to solve, or have faith. I already dwell on too many things out of my control, having a 15 year old ghost is far beyond my abilities to comprehend. All I can really do is have faith that I will know when the time has changed.

I will have faith that, IF I was mistaken about my true love, I will be able tell when it happens for real. That, no matter how hard I may try to hide from it, the universe will set things in motion to make me realise. I will be powerless to resist her and it will just happen.I will not hope for this.

For in hoping, I deny what was.

I don't know what forces are at work out there, but I have faith that it/they knows the forces that work in here.

* * *

Gwendolyn Sang walks down the musty corridors from her youth. It was here that she would have been served upon like royalty. As would her family. She was young and innocent and knew nothing else. But, thinking back, she now realised why her mother never smiled much.It has been three years since she fled this place. I has been three years since she left her friends, family, and everything she knew. Today she returns for answers.

Hearing footsteps from farther down incites a reaction from Gwen. She quietly leaps into a crevice located in the corridor wall. It was natural for her to remember this spot. She hid often in her youth and new all the best places. Although this space is smaller than she remembers, she is able contort herself into in. The footsteps pass her by without so much as a pause, stutter, or scuff.

I see then are still using the golems. She thinks to herself. I'm going to have to remain quiet and cautious.The footsteps fade away and Gwen leaps from hiding. She dashes along the corridor until she reaches the underground great hall.

The hall is really just a massive chamber located with the caverns. Here, the people of her childhood built and maintained shops and a city center. Today, though, they are run down and look abandoned. Gwen leaps to a nearby shop without making a sound, and scans the area. She can make out the patrol route that the Golems maintain by the absence of dust and debree on their trail way.

Gwen judges the sounds of the distant Golems, and gets set to leap to another building when she hears a disturbance of rubble. She crouches down low and scans in the direction of the sound. She can make out a humanoid figure making its way cautiously through the ruins when it suddenly stops. Gwen cups her hands to her eyes like binoculars and controls the blood flowing to them. With this ability she is able to amplify the ambient light she perceives and peer into the shadows. Although covered in baggy rags, Gwen notices that it is a female roughly equivalent in physical age to herself. She further controls her sight by telescoping in on the figure and is shocked to see the woman is looking straight back at her.

Gwen falls flat to the rooftop and resets her vision. She controls the blood flow to her muscles and makes a powerfully quick leap to the roof of the shop next door. A barely noticeable thump and dust trail leave any indication of her previous location and no signs point to her new one. She restores her blood flow to normal levels and channels a bit to her ears. She concentrates on any sound within the great hall and can only make out the stomp of an incoming Golem.

The Golem moves closer and closer. Gwen remains absolutely still that not even a breathe escapes her. The Golem stops just short of the building she is on when it lets out a loud roar. The sound of rubble being disturbed at the base of her hiding place prepares Gwen to make another leap into hiding. When, suddenly, the sound of metal cleaving into hard leather leads Gwen to believe that she is not the target. Gwen chances a look over the peak of the shop's roof and sees the battle that has taken place.

The woman in rags is quickly dashing around the Golem. The golem are fleshy in coloring but their skin is slightly harder than the most sturdy boiled leather. These Blood Golems as they are better known only resemble humans in the ability to walk upright. They possess two large, trunk-like legs that support an even larger barrel-shaped chest. Atop the chest and to the front rests a head that, although fleshy, more closely resembles a slightly flattened basketball. Two tiny eyes invade the round shape of the head and a large mouth opens to reveal small shark-like teeth. To either side of the chest, two massive arms protrude. These arms measure two-thirds of the Golems height and are larger around than even its legs. They end of one set of arms ends in a bone-like scythe while the other set ends in horn-like digits.

The massive Golem swings at the rag girl several times but fails to connect with the wiry woman. She continues to dash around it, laying strike upon strike into it with a large, flat knife blade. The strikes seem to have no affect of the massive beast, when suddenly, a strike lands in between the armoured plate hide. The Golem lets out another roar and knocks the woman into Gwen's shop. The golems roar is answered by another distant one.

Gwen realises that the situation can only get worse if she lets it. So, she puts herself in a meditative blood combat trance. This trance she has trained to perform and maintain for hours on end. She leaps to the Golems back and unsheathes her bloodforged blade. The blade measures six feet in total length and contains a three foot blade at one end offset from a one and a half foot blade at the other. Gwen positions the bloodletter blade over her head and strikes down and into the giant Golems neck behind its head and into its chest.

The mighty creature opens its mouth to let out another roar when it collapse into the ground, motionless. Gwen follows the beasts momentum to the ground and recovers with a tumble and somersault. Gwen then quickly rushes the to woman in rags.

The young woman peers at Gwen, blood slipping from the corners of her mouth. "Is that you SangGwen? Daemar, your sire, will be most happy that you have returned. As will those of us who fight against him..."

The woman falls limp in Gwen's arms.

Daemar, I thought I had watched you die ages ago. This time I won't hear your lies or deception. this time I will drain every ounce of your black blood until you crumble to the ages.

Viewer Discretion Is Advised

Some of you may have noticed a mature content warning before you enter. I felt the need to do this because some of the things I have gone over contain adult concepts and situations. And, as I progress, it may contain graphic depictions of murder, rape, or otherwise very criminal acts.

I would not want my kids to read this until they were at least in there teens. And, as a writer, I must strive to make it believable and as close to real as possible. I admit to having been in trouble with law before, but nothing of a felony or capital punishment. So then, I must rely on my imagination.

Maybe, by the end of this, I will get you to say 'wow' or 'that is one sick guy'.

So, this is the disclaimer.

You have been warned.

And so have I.

Kara

What is this tragic pain that eats my self esteem?

Her name is/was Kara Briggs. She is my Muse as well as my Succubus and she is responsible for my one and only 'love at first sight' incident.

I was extremely young at the time and full of awe. I could not say that I knew what love was at the time, but I knew the power she had over me. I have said it before, and I have no problems saying it again: Never before had I seen anything like her, and I have yet to do so again. I was compelled. Back in those days, I was a confident ladies man, if you will. But, with Kara, I was weak and powerless. I was afraid for, perhaps, the first time in my life. I wished to gaze upon her, but the will of a mortal is weak in comparison to that of an Angel. Truly. I wished to speak to her, but I knew my brash bravado was not going to be enough or even appropriate. When I could muster the words, they would fall short at seeing her again and I would become reverted and shy. She had a power over me that no other had been able to demonstrate. I can only explain it as celestial.

A project in school required that the class pair up to learn dance techniques. The teacher asked that anyone who had a partner in mind raised their hand. This was my chance. I gathered up my courage and shot my hand into the air. The teacher selected someone behind me and I was shocked to find out that Kara had been selected to choose first. Crud. I just knew that she was going to pick some other guy and my heart sank. I slowly began to lower my hand when Kara said my name.

The cartoons portray it, but I believe that my jaw hit the floor. I was dumbstruck and stunned. Noticing my hand still up, the teacher asked if that was who I wanted to dance with. I could not speak. My jaw was on the floor, after all. All I could muster was an excited puppy dog nod. Kara is, in fact, who I wanted. Of that, I was never more sure.

Events beyond my control took her from me. My family moved to a different town without my knowledge of the event taking place until it had already happened. I could not prepare, nor gather information to remain in contact. That was the first time I lost her. And, as with so many other childish things, she faded with time. I became more introverted and could not explain why.

When I was 17 I enlisted in the Army National Guard. While at Basic Training in Fort Knox, fate would both bless and curse me with the ghosts of my past. It turns out that one of my classmates from back then was also in my training unit. I was anxious to learn of what my other friends had become. It was interesting and exiting to hear of their exploits. And then, from the dark recesses of where I buried it, I spoke her name. I had very nearly forgotten. He confirmed that I was sure about the name I spoke and he then sighed heavily.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry," He began, "She died a couple years ago."

That was second time I lost her.

Joining a new gaming group in Boise reunited me with yet another classmate from the early days. I had swore to never forget her name again and, as soon I learned of someone from my past, I began to investigate. Fearing that my friend in Basic may have harbored feelings of jealousy, I sought to get more facts. I doubted what had been presented to me and I asked my new Gaming 'contact'. She confirmed that, yes, Kara had died in a truck accident.

That was the last time I lost her.

You can say that this was nothing more than 'puppy love'. I tried to tell that too myself, but some things are just too coincidental. Fate HAD to have played a part.

And so, I have sworn never to forget her again. I have sworn to the fact that she must have been 'the one' for me. I swear, she is my True Love.

Prove me wrong.

Please.

I want to love again.

I want to be loved.

I want to be wanted.

* * *

(excerpt from) Gone Away - Offspring

"Maybe in another life

I could find you there

Pulled away before your time

I can't deal it's so unfair

And it feels

And it feels like

Heaven's so far away

And it feels

Yeah it feels like

The world has grown cold

Now that you've gone away"

Bloody Turnips

I'm glad there's no such thing as 'Doctors Block' or "Cashiers Block" but why do they get all the easy jobs. You know, and do, the job or you don't. There is not any in-between failure.

Here I am again for the third night straight. Here I stare at a blank white post box. It hungers for me to etch into it with blackness. I turn away from it, striving to glean ambition from anything else in the room. My room disappoints me and I close my eyes to reflect on the things in my psyche.
And there it all is. All the things that I tire of hearing myself say. No less true or heartfelt, just tiring. I bore myself with my 'emo' crap. Poor me. Boo hoo.
I try to beat on the drums to relieve tension. One more creative outlet drained.
I pull out the sketchpad. I need to open it every day and put something in it. It's hungry whiteness mocks me too.
Inspiration and motivation have left me.
Great, I guess something is bothering me... my nails have gotten noticeably shorter, and once again Santa ignored my requests for a workout/exercise bag.
Somehow, I knew this would happen. As with all my creative projects, they burn brightly while my emotions run high. They then fizzle out before completion only to be picked back up days, months, or years later...

I found someone who motivated me.
I want to pursue her.
I can't.

Maybe I'll write some bad poetry to go along with my bad narration.

* * *

Tragic?

There was once a lonely boy,

He found himself a lonely girl,

They became lonely together,

And worshipped death.

After the passing of lonely girl,

Lonely boy didn't want to be lonely,

Lonely boy pleaded for death,

And his mind died.

Lost in the insanity of lonely boy,

Lonely girl begged for forgiveness,

Lonely boy would not hear her,

She was dead.

Lonely boy became dead boy,

He found himself a dead girl,

They were dead together,

And worshipped loneliness.

Idols (cont.)

First sign that something is laking in your life: you are blogging on Christmas.



Anyhow, I have come to terms with my dilemma from my last blog. I had two choices; either dwell upon something that I would not possibly be able to solve, or have faith. I already dwell on too many things out of my control, having a 15 year old ghost is far beyond my abilities to comprehend. All I can really do is have faith that I will know when the time has changed.

I will have faith that, IF I was mistaken about my true love, I will be able tell when it happens for real. That, no matter how hard I may try to hide from it, the universe will set things in motion to make me realise. I will be powerless to resist her and it will just happen.

I will not hope for this. For in hoping, I deny what was.



I don't know what forces are at work out there, but I have faith that it/they knows the forces that work in here.



Gwendolyn Sang walks down the musty corridors from her youth. It was here that she would have been served upon like royalty. As would her family. She was young and innocent and knew nothing else. But, thinking back, she now realised why her mother never smiled much.

It has been three years since she fled this place. I has been three years since she left her friends, family, and everything she knew. Today she returns for answers.

Hearing footsteps from farther in incites a reaction from Gwen. She quietly leaps into a crevasse located in the corridor wall. It was natural for her to remember this spot. She hid often in her youth and new all the best spots. Although this space is smaller than she remembers, she is able contort herself into in. The footsteps pass her by without so much as a pause, stutter, or scuff.



I see then are still using the golems. She thinks to herself. I'm going to have to remain quiet and cautious.

The footsteps fade away and Gwen leaps from hiding. She dashes along the corridor until she reaches the underground hall.

Idols

"I have offended God and mankind because my work didn't reach the quality it should have."


- Leonardo da Vinci

I admire Leonardo da Vinci greatly. I feel we have similar qualities. It is my aspiration to one day be ranked up there with him. A rather large boast, but we all need goals.

But, I get distracted. Calling me pationate is the typical response to me going on about the things I say and the things that really grab my attention. But, it is really only an excuse. There is very little reason for it. Likewise, I get very 'girl crazy'. I fall hard and fast. Make that: too hard and too fast.

Confident in the knowledge that there is not another out there who can complete me anymore, I still crave the affections of another. To be admired and to hold their facination. But, how could I possibly ask someone to forego their chance to be connected to their true love, by being with me? I cannot. I'm not selfish, just alone.

If it gets to be too distracting, I spend a sobering reminder in front of the mirror.

This gives me perspective again.

Calibrates me.

And sets me back to zero.

What if I'm wrong? What if I have yet to find the best person for me? What if everything I experienced was only a fraction of what I could experience?

I would rather have lost true love than never have found it.

But couldn't this be seen as selfish? What if I have yet to find 'the one', but, I meet her someday? By closing myself off from her, I deny her the ability to experience the love we all deserve.

Crap, I just found a flaw in my ideology. I... I don't know what to add. I have to think on this. Crappity crap crap. Well, I had something planned to write but I can't now. I'll be back if/when I can come up with something.

"Art is never finished, only abandoned."
- Leonardo da Vinci

Truth Is A Perception

I believe that true love is real. I also believe that I met and fell in love with mine. The story itself is a cotton candy mirror of what my life is now. But, I had the most powerful and truest emotions tied to love with her. She is dead now.

I curse myself every day by saying that I hope that she was not 'the one'. I hope that there is a 'truer' love out there for me. But, in doing so, I sour the memories of what we had.

I ask forgiveness and chalk it up to just being lonely. An overbearing feeling of solitude surrounds me. It ways me down and makes me dwell on things out of my control. I loose sleep unless I can swallow my pride and cry myself to sleep.

If dying meant that I could see her again, I would. But I just do not know for sure. So I hold onto this physical shell against the torrents of life.

* * *

-Two orderlies peer through a tiny view port into a white, padded cell. Their clean white coats bear a striking contrast to the grey stone walls and floor. Within the cell sits a man with long white hair save for two thin stripes, on either side of his part, that are the color black. His head is lowered and his gaze is fixed on the space between his feet. He wears not shoes and his legs are covered with loose, pajama-style, white pants. He shifts ever so slightly trying to find a comfortable position for the straight jacket that he wears about his chest.

-"...admits to killing her," says the first orderly finishing his statement, "but keeps sticking to some crazy tale about how she wasn't supposed to die."

-"Oh, right" chimes the second orderly, "this is that Duvoss guy I've heard about. Sounds like a cheap way to get out of the death penalty to me."

-The orderlies share a laugh combined with a shaking of their heads. This gains a reaction from the patient in the form of a sidelong glance.

-"Whatever, man. Let's check on the others and I can finish your tour," concludes the first orderly.

-I can't take it anymore, Camelia.

-Tears begin to fall from the patients face only to find a resting place on his jacket. He can't remember a time when he wasn't crying since being placed in here. So, his tears join the others that have succeeded in making the top half of his jacket soaked. His lips have become chapped with dehydration and he parts them slightly to take a deep breath.

-He lets out his final breath and wills himself to stop living.

-The mental health facility is sprung into activity. Patient Duvoss is not responding and his life signs are fading.

-I guess I wasn't fast enough. They are going to revive me. Maybe next time my dear wife.

He can feel himself being raised up but cannot see anything.

-"What on Earth do you think you are doing, baby?"

-His heart jumps. I know that voice! But, could it be? Please let it be true.

His eyes open quickly to be filled with a bright light. He strains to make sense of the shapes he perceives. When, at last, his heart fills with joy. Hovering above him, like some Gothic angel, is his dead wife, Camelia.

-She is wearing a grey, leather, hooded trench coat. And she looks down on Darrel with a sign of displeasure. Darrel is shocked by the look on her face, hoping that she would be pleased to see him again. His heart falls instantly, fearing that all that he 'knew' was false. Never good at hiding his emotions, Darrel's expression shifts to one of depression.

-"Oh, no, no, no, baby. You can't do this. Not if we are to be together again." She smiles broadly and does her best to reassure him. "It is not your time yet."

-He realises that he was reaching for her and drops his arms limply, "I can't, Cami. I can't go on anymore without you." He turns to look away from her, realising that he is floating in the air and spots his body being positioned and cared for by orderlies and doctors.

-"Remember the things I told you before?" Camelia touches Darrel's cheek and turns his face towards hers, "They were... mostly true."

-"You see," she continues, "death was only a small part of my abilities. I am Karma. I am Chance. And I am Balance. You are a noble soul and would have gone to 'Heaven' but you ended your own existence which damns you to oblivion. I may just have a solution though. Those doctors are going to save your life, but for a price. You now have a debt to repay... in souls."

-"When the Angels were created, they picked 'sides' long before I came about. So, I chose my 'Angels' from humans. Charon was my first, and I want you to be my next. As one of my Reapers, you get to assist me in the collection of souls, and thus get to visit me on occasion."

-"But, and here is where it gets tricky, you still have two things against you. One: You will still be of the living and reaper abilities will alienate you from others and could have an adverse affect on your psyche. And two: You have too good of a heart and will go to heaven when you cross over. To remedy that, you will have to be equally evil."

-"I want you to become my avenger and my revenger. I want you to kill people. Bad people."

She then presents Darrel with a set of scythe blades, "I want you to become my Angel of Vengeance."