Cough, hack, choke, sniff

Three days, is it? on medication. I'm sick, tired, depressed, angry, irritable, etc. And it will only get worse before it gets better. Splitting headaches... the benefits had better be worth all this. We are... not well. A complete misery.

The coffeehouse was okay. Not bad, not great, just okay. My piece, Diary of a Supervillain, went over pretty well. I've been told I'm a breath of fresh air from the mumbling and the teenage angst. At least I'm filling my niche amongst the love stories and the questionable insights. It occurs to me that next year, after Chris and that other guy have graduated, I'll be the reigning crazy, out-there guy. Joy. Infamy, here I come.
Do we really need so many people reading glosas? Is it really worth throwing something together at the last minute? For glascoumsand, your fancy words are not impressing anyone. Your philosophical inquiries are not original. Writing like you're seven years old will not get you any respect. Speak up! The introduction and explanation should not be longer than the piece itself. Pieces should be ordered by alternating grade and length to improve the experience. No matter how tastefully you swear, there are still children in the audience. Half-time games should actually be entertaining to watch. Talking out of sync with a guitar will not improve your writing. Neither enthusiasm not seriousness will not hide the fact that you have nothing to say.
Medically induced grouchiness aside, I did enjoy myself. There were some pretty good readings, and some less good ones, but oh well. Highlights include a man adored by all countries even remotely civilized and a pair of spectacular boots. It was noted that the teching was good this time; people in the audience could actually hear the performers. This is something of a slap in the face to Juliana and Brendan, our resident techies, since they were busy with another project and the role was filled by someone else. Perhaps Brittany should remain the techie next time as well. Hm.

There are some people you just want to beat about the head with an aluminum bat, you know?

Chemicals, book 1

Day one on medication. So far, bleck.
We're still working on taking pills. They're making me swallow objects to learn. Yesterday I practiced with Skittles and one got stuck in my throat. Which is exactly why I'm afraid of pills. Yeah, thanks. For now I'm taking the contents of the pill stirred up in chocolate pudding. Sounds nice, but I was never too fond of chocolate pudding to begin with, and now it tastes like medicine. Plus they keep pressuring me to just swallow it since stirring it up is too much work, although I keep telling them I could just do it myself. Ugh.
How is it? Well, it's a small dose that's been in my system for one day. A few chemical headaches, which aren't as bad as my usual ones but still hurt more because I'm not used to them. Some nausea and dizziness, but that will happen. A lot of anxiety. I've spent the entire day on a constant panic trip. I'm a twitching nervous wreck. And it will probably get worse before it gets better. Joy.

That in mind, this is probably not the best time to be talking. I will shut up now.

Everything is sort of okay

If anything is the root of my problems, it's the automatic negativity. I can't help it. Everything I hear runs through a filter. And one of the voices constantly lends me his interpretations. No matter what people say, it turns out negative in my head. What's worse is I can hear both versions at the same time, so I never know how to respond. For example:

What people are trying to say:
I care about you and I don’t want you to be hurting.
What I hear:
Your endless whining has provoked a reaction from me that will hopefully shut you up. Now leave me alone.
Which explains:
why if I try to talk to people about things that bother me I only end up more depressed.

What people are trying to say:
It’s important to act on your faith to strengthen yourself and others in Christ.
What I hear:
You don’t act like we want you to. You’re not good enough to be a Christian. All you care about is yourself.
Which explains:
my desperate, faltering altruism as I try to ignore the deep personal problems that hold me back.

What people are trying to say:
You’re a unique and fascinating person and I want to learn more about you and what you’re going through.
What I hear:
You’re a pathetic freak and I will never see you as a friend again.
Which explains:
why every time I start to open up to people I begin talking to them less and less.

And so on.
On another note, I have just had the best idea ever (well not really) for a piece to read at the coffeehouse on Wednesday. I'd better get cracking.

Stab in the spine

I've been having another waking dream. It's been occurring more and more frequently. Looking at the people around me... I want to break them.

People these days are weak. No one wants to deal with any issues, with anything. They put up walls to hide behind, they cry and squirm. I see people falling into pits of despair, or angst, or just being a fucking moron. I want to break them. I've lived my life this way - unable to shut anything out. Just internalize, draw it deeper into myself, let it hit me until it doesn't hurt any more. It's what gives me my strength. I don't believe in making things easier for myself.
I want to break down all these walls. I want people to see clearly. I want people to take their pain, deal with it, and move on. Yes, this means destroying them, but what of it? That which does not kill you only makes you stronger. I'm very good at slipping under peoples' defenses. I can strike them where they hurt the most. I reopen wounds, crush defenses, beat them around the head until they open their fucking eyes. "Look at yourself!" I say. "Fucking look at what you're doing!" They run away from me. I know why. What I'm doing hurts... but it's only because I want them to be free. But none of them ever see. They whine, they cry, they come to hate me, but none of them gain any perspective. They go on living the lies they build around themselves. They can't bear to look outside their own worlds, corrupt as they may be. Do you know what the name is for someone who cries and screams at the slightest pain or discomfort? A baby. People need to fucking grow up.
That's why I want to break them. You can't reason with them, can't inspire them. You can only tear them apart, then let them heal - properly. People, children, can't see this. You can hurt them again and again, crushing them until they finally listen to you, but they still won't change. I want to break them. I want to break them. I want to break them.

...that's the dream, swearing and all. It frightens me. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to turn into a monster. If the worst should happen, who will stop me?
I'm tired. I want to sleep.
I'm not a bad person. I don't want to hurt anyone.
I wouldn't.
No.
I...
I wouldn't...

Effing destiny

Went skiing today. Didn't end so well. It was my first (and probably last) trip out of the year, and all seemed fine. We went up and down the most challenging hills there, although Warren (my dad's friend who came with us) insisted that they were beneath him. I wasn't about to argue. I fell once in the morning, but wasn't hurt.
Then, last run of the day before we packed it in, I went too fast, slipped on a dry patch, and fell. Things get a bit hazy after that. I remember tumbling, then blacking out. I woke up a second later in a ditch. It seems I'd fallen, slid across the ice at high speed, tumbled into the ditch, and rolled through branches and across rocks for a good ten feet. Lying there, looking back up at the carnage behind me, I couldn't understand why nothing was broken. In fact, I'm pretty much fine. There's a couple big bruises on my leg and left arm, as well as a few small ones all over me. My helmet was pretty scratched up. I have a small cut under my chin and a gash on my right knee that's swollen and won't stop bleeding, but it should die down soon enough. Could easily have been a lot worse. My knee's bothering me, but I can still hobble about. They tell me by tomorrow I'll be feeling really battered. Joy. I dread tomorrow.
Still, nothing broken. I don't have a concussion, not even a headache. I seem pretty fine. Shame about the knee, but oh well, could easily have been a lot worse. I'll see how I am tomorrow.

An old friend of mine got in contact with me a couple days ago. He wanted to talk to me about something he felt only I might understand. And if that's ever the case, you can tell it's something pretty batshit crazy.
See, he's come to the conclusion that his soul is Draconian in origin. He's come to this through reading, meditation, and analysis of his admittedly dragonlike personality. A lot of it seems to stem straight from the repressed fantasy of a misogynistic geek, but maybe that's just what I want to believe. I don't know what would be worse, if he's right or if he's wrong. Certainly he's got it all worked out in his head. Based on my extremely limited understanding of the subject, it does seem to make sense. Otherkin... I don't like them. They seem wrong. Even the concept of them, something deep in me is saying, is wrong. And that's not wrong as in untrue. Given the possibility of my own origins... I don't know. If so, we come from very different worlds. Maybe that's what bothers me. I explained our suspicions about the Giants to him. He said that I made the Otherkin sound perfectly plausible.
Thing is, he predicted a battle. Something is coming, he said, something that will tear this world apart. And you know, I've had the same feelings for the longest time. Whatever.
He even has a name. Yarchonis. What do I have? A bunch of feelings, several buckets of confusion and a demonic parental figure with a host of malicious servants. Physically I'm normal. Mentally there's no reason I couldn't just be insane. Empathy? Nothing anyone can prove. So what if I can take away headaches etc? So what if... I won't bother. I've even asked God, sometimes. He's answered yes and He's answered no. I think, what with all the confusion, the doubts, and the general chaos of being me, I don't really want to know. I've said that about many things. Being certifiably insane is only marginally better than actually having these things in my life. Either way, I don't know if I can live with it. For better or for worse. Sometimes, though, I wish I could just be Alex. Just be the kind yet troubled boy people think I am. Without all the chaos. Without all the secrets. Without... any of this. Carry on my education and career, be the man Danica wants me to be, live my life. I don't want all this.
Not that it matters. I go on. It's what I do.
I don't need a name, not like my ancestors. I have Alexander. Defender of men. Some day, perhaps, I will deserve it.

If I go on to become infamous or legendary for whatever reason, and I maintain this, someday people will read it. Perhaps to see what I was like when I was young, or to revel at my thoughts, or perhaps to chronicle my descent into madness. At this point I realize that I may be disappointing them. The future! I need to find more relevant thoughts, more beautiful sayings, more things worth reading. Or is that silly?
I still don't really think of myself as deserving happiness. But whatever. Maybe I'll get over that some day.

Love

And, for a short time, we can put aside all that ails us. For a short time, all is right in the world.
I'm happy.

Gleck

Bleh. My mouth tastes of blood. I guess this explains my mood these past few days... but I'm annoyed about it. I wasn't expecting this for another couple of days. If the pattern doesn't correct itself, I'm going to have to conclude this: that my own particular hormonal cycle lasts slightly less than a month. Brilliant, just brilliant.

I'm making a course change from yearbook to media arts. I think it's a good move. It's nearly the same course, but instead of taking elements of art and putting them together to create media works, we're taking media works and breaking them down into elements of art. (Does that make sense?) Anyway, we're studying much of the same things, but without my having to go out and talk to people and take pictures. I think my issues with people would have just been too much of a problem. I'm not really a group worker, and the whole thing was just too high-stress. This course seems much more fun and informal. I think I'll learn a lot more and enjoy myself. And the family is pleasantly surprised that I was able to plan ahead. It all works out well.

Happy memories.

Waiting in a fast food restaurant halfway from here to Toronto, staring out the window. The road trip is destined to end badly, but I don't know that. I'm among friends, with adventure ahead and good people waiting at home.

Flashing lights, pounding music. A gaggle of girls is trying to convince me to ask Weiming to dance. I refuse, and she sees me refuse. She wouldn't have taken kindly to it anyway. It's a joy we share.

Ella runs down towards me, off of the bus. If this were a movie, we would kiss passionately while her friends gasp through the windows. Thankfully, that doesn't happen. She hugs me. One perfect moment that lasts forever.

Summer camp. Inexplicably I find myself singing The Lumberjack Song to a large audience, since I have the accent and know all the words. It goes over remarkably well.

Just a few. Don't want to use them up all at once.

Narrative Intermission

A tribute to self-harm.

Imagine a girl. She grew up in a normal household, normal friends, normal dreams. She does averagely in school. One day she wakes up, feeling tired and uncertain, though she doesn’t know why. The feeling continues long after it should, until it’s all she can feel. She talks to her friends, but they barely listen; they have problems of their own. She goes to her parents, who comfort and assure her, but by the next day they seem to have forgotten all about it. The girl changes her appearance to match her darker mood, but to no avail. Everyone else is doing it too. She becomes a recluse, watching happy people from the shadows. She can’t understand why it seems so easy for everyone else. Unable to share her world with anyone, she is completely alone.
Then, when she has forgotten what love felt like, from a desperate attempt to feel anything again, anything at all… she picks up a knife. She carves neglect into her arm.
Suddenly she’s bathed in light. People are lining up to comfort her. Her parents, in tears, apologize for everything and send her to a psychologist to get better. Her friends return, showering her with love. She finds a boyfriend who’s gone through similar trials and know how she feels. Life returns to the world.
Then, as suddenly as it came, the light fades.
People stop taking notice of her. Her parents are preoccupied, and even the doctor ceases to listen. Her gaggle of friends move on to the latest hot topic. Her boyfriend only talks about his problems, growing more and more dependent on her. The girl finds herself alone again. Wait! she cries, running after the world. Don’t you see my scars? Don’t you see that I hurt? But no one says anything. She stops. The light is gone. And the despair is back, empty, draining the life from her.
She has been abandoned. Betrayed. The world never really loved her. She picks up the knife and writes hate on her arms.
But this time no one comes to save her.

A tribute to loneliness.

"I was bullied when I was little," he said. He faced the room with a smile on his face. "I was one of the 'invisible children' you could call us. We were the ones you saw in corners, or sitting alone in the schoolyard. We always ate lunch alone. We played alone. No one wanted to be my friend." He sighed and shook his head. "I guess that was partly my fault. I wasn't very social. I wouldn't have known how to play with others if I tried.
"The thing that got to you, after awhile, was the loneliness. I used to tell myself I liked being alone. That I didn't really like any of the other children my age. The truth is, no one likes being alone. There's only so much you can do by yourself. Imaginary friends only last so long. There's only so much time you can stand no one talking to you. I was always picked last for sports or group work. When I spoke, nobody heard me. It was like I wasn't there. Most of the time people didn't even realize they were ignoring me. I was just... invisible." He smiled thinly. Too thinly.
"That broke my heart, it really did. Feeling as though I didn't exist. The times when the bigger boys picked on me for laughing or crying or just not being like them came as a profound relief from not being seen by them at all. I was quite the emotion boy back the, so I made an easy target. Most of the time, though, they acted like I didn't exist. I really can't stress that enough. For several years, as a young, developing child, the world was telling me that I did not exist. That stung, all right, but it never made me angry - to be angry you need a voice, and that's the one thing I didn't have.
"One day, though, there was this haunted house the older students had set up. And I'll tell you, that was one damn scary haunted house. I challenge you to find students twice their age who could have done a job like that in such a small space. We all went through, laughing and joking. I came out shaken. My eyes had been opened up, you see, to something- but that is a story for another time. The other boys jogged off, laughing and bragging about their exploits. I dragged myself to the side and sat down. Then this girl... her name was Alison, though I forget with how many Ls. She was sweet, with a good heart and a strong head, and I admit I'd had a kind of little-boy crush on her for a long time. She came and sat next to me. And I moved away. The most terrible thing... the one time someone was actually there for me, that was the one time I wanted to be alone. And so, for the next three years that I knew her, she, just like everyone else, left me alone.
"But you know what?" He chuckled. "Those years, those lonely years, made me who I am today. It took all that time to find myself, to bring out the courage I needed to be assertive. It wasn't long after that time that I began to talk to people. I had friends, for awhile. I started to learn more. Now I'm just as social as anyone else. And because of those empty years, I had much more time to think. That's why I came out on top in the end. I owe so, so much of my success these past weeks to those years spent by myself."
And he waved, and gave a little bow, and many people applauded before moving on to the next speaker. But his eyes told a different story.
They said, I will never forgive you. I may move on, I may laugh it off when we remember the old times, I may even thank you for doing this to me. But I will never forgive you. I was alone, and you ignored me. You knew that I was lonely, but you did nothing. You knew my voice was quiet, but you did not listen. You knew that I was sensitive, but you did not soften your blows. I am strong only because you hurt me. You took Alison away from me. I will never forgive you.

I've always needed an emotional anchor... but I don't want to live my life on the underside of an ampersand, you know? You get sick of being another roadside attraction, you get sick of no one calling you by your real name. I kind of miss the days when someone was dependent on me, when I could wrap a girl around my finger with a few choice words and a gentle kiss. And I meant it, too, every time. That's why whenever anyone helps me I can't resist thinking that I talked them into it. Even if I had someone who would lift me up out of the kindness of their heart I'd still use them to make myself ever more of a monster.
Twice it's been in as many days when I've pressed a knife to the center of my chest and prayed for the strength to go one way or the other.
Grav, I'm hopeless. I need to stop being so down all the time. Here's a joke. What side of a chicken is the most optimistic? Answer: the upside.

The dam breaks

My appointment was canceled.

The psychological evaluation. The one that's supposed to confirm what I've been trying to tell these people for a year and a half. My first step towards an ounce of actual support from these people. For eighteen months they've sat me down in little rooms and asked me questions and taken notes and had me fill out questionnaire after identical questionnaire. And now, when they were finally taking the big step towards an official diagnosis, my appointment is canceled.
She was sick, of course. There's always a reason. Or at least, an excuse.

I'm sick too. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of sitting on my hands and waiting for the people whose job it is to help people like me to get off their asses and do something. I'm sick of people forgetting things and not talking to each other. I'm sick of no one asking any of the right questions. I'm sick of missing classes just to sit in cars and waiting rooms, report no change (shitty as always) and schedule the next appointment. I'm sick of people who have no idea what my needs are. I'm sick of words of encouragement but no words of comfort. I'm sick of people refusing to acknowledge when I have problems. I'm sick of being misunderstood.

I'm sick of love. I'm sick of a family who gives me endless reasons to hide myself. I'm sick of having to earn concern. I'm sick of waiting for reaffirmation of love like a hungry puppy suckling at her dead mother. I'm sick of planning my life around someone else's schedule. I'm sick of overwhelming ignorance and insensitivity from the people I thought I could trust. I'm sick of having to see the people who've hurt me every day. I'm sick of my patronizing mother. I'm sick of being ignored when I'm in distress. I'm sick of having no one to hold my hand. I'm sick of being alienated from everyone I open up to. I'm sick of people avoiding talking about me. I'm sick of my God picking me apart. I'm sick of people not telling me what they really think. I'm sick of being so low on peoples' lists of priorities. I'm sick of people leaving me without saying goodbye.

I'm sick of this world. I'm sick of this redundant school system. I'm sick of the power struggles and incompetence. I'm sick of the arrogance of humanity. I'm sick of never being able to trust anyone. I'm sick of the arbitrary rules. I'm sick of the ignorance and the deception. I'm sick of people who still haven't learned to think for themselves. I'm sick of the false prophets. I'm sick of the closed-mindedness. I'm sick of people.

I'm sick of the voices. I'm sick of never being able to agree on anything. I'm sick of constantly being lost and alone and afraid. I'm sick of never being able to share my world with anyone. I'm sick of depth. I'm sick of being tormented. I'm sick of the doubts and the second-guessing. I'm sick of knowing when I'm lying to myself. I'm sick of the deception and the memories. I'm sick of seeing monsters. I'm sick of the scars no one else can see. I'm sick of the pain. I'm sick of looking in mirrors and seeing a monster. I'm sick of waiting for myself to snap and kill something.

I'm sick of being me. And everything that comes with it.
And they wonder why I'd choose death. If only that were an option. I wish.
When they ask me if I'm suicidal, I always say no. What I mean is, not yet.

No more snow baths

I'm fine now. I am. Ish.
I just wish... no. It doesn't matter what I wish. Forget it.

Lank and Prophet ran out of the skeleton room, following the path Whisk had taken. Down the passageway was a steep flight of stairs. They went down, down. At the bottom they pulled up short. The pair stood on a ledge surrounding a massive hole in the floor. From below came a terrible stench and a wicked, piercing squealing. Rising above the hole was a noxious cloud of black vapor. The pair looked at each other, then over the edge. All that could be seen was a writing, shifting blackness, hordes of white and grey maggots crawling over the surface. They drew back and looked at each other. "Darkmother," the said, fear, reverence and disgust crossing their faces. There was another door to the right. They began creeping along the ledge to get to it.
"Do you think the Centipede followed us?" said Prophet.
"I don't think they can fit across these ledges," replied Lank. "Unless they can- oh, check that, they can." A second Centipede crawled along the wall towards them. They froze. But when it reached them, it simply stroked their heads briefly with its antennae and scuttled away. "Oh," said Lank. "Maybe it's their room. They might not want to fight near the Darkmother."
"Or maybe they're not dangerous at all," laughed Prophet. "I mean, it's not as if they have pincers."
"Or mouths, even." Lank peered over the edge again at the squirming mass below. "From maggots to Centipedes to Serpents... this is really pushing definitions, to say nothing of husbandry..."
The pair reached the next room. It was much smaller than the others, filled with rows of what appeared to be marble tombs, but was otherwise empty. Prophet frowned. "Dammit, where did she go?"
Lank sighed, then chuckled. "Maybe she was swallowed by the Darkmother, and when we kill her she's going to crawl out of her stomach completely unharmed."
"Silly a prospect as that is, around here it's not actually that unlikely- oh, hang on, here she is." They came upon the filthy and badly-shaken Whisk cowering behind behind the final row of containers. Prophet lifted her head. "Are you all right, Whisk? How did you get here?"
"I- I dont' know-" the female alter stuttered, near tears. "I just woke up here, and there's that skeleton, and that dead thing, and, and... [mutant]" she finished, slipping in her panic into thought-speech. "[Twisted Serpent. And Her. Darkmother!]" She collapsed back into sobs.
Curious, Lank pushed back the lid of the nearest marble container. Inside was a large black orb, perhaps a foot and a half across with a glassy shell. He scratched his head. "It looks like an egg, but... the container thing, it doesn't make sense. Since the maggots are born down there, I don't see..."
"There could be any number of reasons for it," said Prophet. "I'll take that. If we can't find a use for it, I'm sure Skeleton will." He miraculously picked up the orb and slipped it carefully into a pocket. "Now." He faced the other alters and put on his serious face. "We have two objectives. First and foremost, we must kill the Darkmother. Failing that, or even not failing that, we must get the hell out of here. Any questions?"
Lank frowned. "Yeah. How are we supposed to kill this thing? We're in enemy territory here. I say we get out now, regroup, and return at a later date with an actual plan. We don't stand a chance right now."
"We can't leave," insisted Prophet. "This is a huge opportunity. If we get out now, we may never get this close again."
"I don't see why we have to kill Her at all." Whisk rose, calming down. "Can't we just leave them alone? I don't see why anyone has to die."
The other two thought for awhile. Prophet answered carefully. "The Serpents are dangerous. There shouldn't be any place in our mind where we are afraid to walk. This place is ours. Either the Serpents are a malicious presence here, or they are figments of our collective imagination. Either way, we can't show them any sympathy. If we leave them to fester and grow, they may one day pose a threat to our very core. They're a force of evil, Whisk. One way or another, there's not a speck of good in them."
"There's a speck of good in everything," said Whisk.
She's quite sensible when she puts her mind to it, mused Lank. Shame she doesn't do it more often. "We can decide this later, can't we? Let's look around a bit. We're not in danger now at least. But first sign of trouble, I'm out, you hear?" The others shrugged and nodded. The left and began edging along the ledge again. "I've been thinking, actually," said Lank, "and I thought the Darkmother was much larger than this."
Prophet answered. "I think most of the Darkmother is coiled up even deeper beneath the surface. This is just one of her access points."
"But this is a breeding ground, by the looks of it. So that there in the pit is her..." The trio peered over the lip and shuddered. "Well, that settles it. Set foot in there, no matter what else happens, we're screwed."
"That's horrid," snapped Whisk.

It's been a few days and I haven't been transferred, which I'm taking as a good sign that I didn't fail Bio after all. Next up, English, Yearbook, Lit and Chemistry - that's three english courses and one science. Looks like a busy year.
And I need a hug. But what else is new?

IHML

I worry.
I'm... troubled. I haven't been feeling well.
I'm worried about what I might do. Soon.
I need sleep...

I've always wondered. People say you shouldn't look at the sun. It will burn your eyes and blind you, they say. Well, I look at it. Straight at it. It looks like a bright white dot, a bit smaller than the moon. There's a ring of even brighter light around it. And what happens? Nothing. A rainbow blur that goes away after a few minutes. And I'm surrounded by people who wince and scream every time someone turns on the lights. So either there's something very wrong with my eyes... or very right.

A break from our usual proceedings

My brother tells me I'm too cynical. That I complain too much about things that don't really deserve it. That I'll never be satisfied. Mostly he says this when I complain about Fable 2. I can't help it. There are things in it to complain about. It's not like I hate it... it just needs improving. So, partly to vent and partly just to show him, here's a complete list of everything that bothers me about Fable 2.

1. The distinction between good/evil and purity/corruption is virtually indistinquishable. There's really not too much point to it.
2. Having no cutscenes does nothing to help the game. It just means that those long, expositional conversations are unskippable.
3. This is a game of many figures and few numbers. It's never made clear to what extent an action actually affects your morality or appearance.
4. It is far, far too easy to become obese.
5. Those magical blue lines appear on your body far too quickly.
6. Homosexuality is displayed far, far too prominently. As in, it's really crossing a line, especially in the era this game is supposed to be set in.
7. A female hero would not be treated nearly the same as a male hero, especially in the era this game is supposed to be set in.
8. No money from quests? How does that even make sense? Not only do you get virtually nothing from completing these quests, it means that your only source of income is
9. Jobs. Why, why? You're supposed to be a hero. An adventurer. You go on quests and do things for people for money. That's... you know, the whole point, saving the world notwithstanding. So instead you have to spend twenty minutes pressing one button in a depressingly uncomplicated minigame just to buy basic equipment. No, no, no. This is not good gameplay.
10. There are eight spells in the whole game. Five of them are variations on the same spell. Perhaps two of them are actually useful.
11. Casting spells consists of standing still and letting enemies hit you. More powerful spells take longer to cast, so in order to do any decent damage you have to just sit there and take it for a good ten seconds. All of them are cast the same way.
12. Alternately, you can let loose a volley of smaller spells that do next to no damage at all.
    
13. Switching out spells is finicky and unnecessarily difficult in the middle of battle. Although that's just as well, since you'll only ever use one or two.
14. Guns, even the strongest in the game, are either far too slow or do too little damage. It can take a long time to kill even a single enemy.
15. First-person shooting is slow and leaves you open to pretty much everything. It's the only way to use the things effectively, yet in an actual fightit's impossible to maintain.
16. The open-ended map thing just didn't happen. What we get instead are extremely linear maps with occasional side-routes leading to treasure chests which invariably contain health potions or very small amounts of money. If there is an explorable cave or tomb to find, it will be directly related to an unlockable side-quest. There will be nothing of value in the cave until you do said quest. Even then, as mentioned before, no reward but renown.
17. Renown is still useless. It is needed to progress exactly twice in the game. Acquiring it gives you no practical bonuses.
18. The single-button fighting style leaves much to be desired. We were promised that that single button would be used in a variety of ways depending on how and when it was used. That, like so many other things, never happened.
19. There's not much variety in terms of jobs. Blacksmith, woodcutter, bartender. That's it. Not much of a list.
20. Some of the characters are quite well-designed. The rest are not.
21. Movement is clumsy and blocky. No matter how your character is built, they always handle the same.
22. What happened to the epic boss battles? In the last game we fought Jack of Blades as a sorcerer and a dragon, in addition to a wasp queen, the Kraken, and several other Heroes. What do we get this time? The final "boss" of this game is a blocky black thing whose only real attack is spawning more of the same enemy you've been fighting for half the story missions. Unless you count the anticlimactic ending. But that hardly counts.
23. We were promised six different endings, depending on actions throughout the game. What we got is three. And we get to choose. Yeah.
24. The whole point of the game is your actions affect the world around you, right? There are exactly four occasions when you are given world-changing choices. Two of them are optional quests. It won't actually affect gameplay in any insurmountable way.
25. The trolls are annoying as hell to fight, since they can only be killed with guns (useless) or magic (slow and useless).
26. The real estate system sounds good, but it means in practicality that you'll never have enough money while playing the game, but overnight you'll collect twice the amount you'd reasonably need to buy anything.
27. It's hard to get emotionally attached to a family any more. They just seem like a drain on your resources and nothing else.
28. Expressions are overused. The original got by just fine with only a few.
29. What happened to the hotkeys? It's now impossible to set them. The game just decides when you're likely to need something, and it's usually wrong. That means you never have easy access to items when you need them, like, say, healing items in a battle, or experience potions when you're about to get a big multiplier.
30. The experience multiplier is arbitrary and an unnecessary hassle. Give us a combat multiplier like the last game.
31. How about some decent quests? Almost all of these consist of going somewhere and killing everything that stands in your way. That would be nice, if the combat system was any good. How about some originality?
32. Check that. The very few puzzle-solving quests are awkward and extremely simple, consisting mostly of hitting a switch to open a door.
    
33. And the remainder revolve around going from place to place and talking to people. These are not things any self-respecting Hero should be doing. Even fetch-quests are better than this. Even those that involve linear, uninspiring dungeons. Did I mention those?
34. All weapons are pretty much the same. Some are faster, some are slower, but you don't get any sense of one being "better" than another. It also keep showering you with "legendary" weapons far worse than the ones you pick up in the shops.
35. The most powerful weapons in the game are completely not worth the effort.
36. No armor? As in, none at all? That's not really realistic. I mean, I'm not saying we need plate mail in every game, but there's no reason going into battle naked should go unpunished, if you see what I mean.
37. There are only two types of tattoo. And they barely show up.
38. Including bosses, there are about ten different enemy types in the game. About half of them are just variations on the other half.
39. You have to finish the game before you can complete the gargoyle quest. That means by the time you get their legendary weapon, there's nothing left to do.
40. Gargoyles are annoying, and impossible to find.
41. It's glitchy. Things walk through other things. And the dreadlocks are awful.
    
42. During several missions, you'll be aided by up to three other characters. Since they can't die, it reduces the challenge of the mission dramatically - especially the final boss fight.
43. The glowing trail that leads you straight to the doorstep of every objective is useful, but only points out just how linear this game is. It's not as though there's multiple ways to do something, or anything off the beaten path worth finding.
44. It just lacks the charm of the original. It lacks the depth and the originality.
45. This world is absolutely not ten times the size of the original. The maps are larger, maybe, but there's less in them. The five levels of Darkwood in the original were much better than the single, dull area of Brightwood.
46. The ability to travel anywhere, instantly, just by walking really takes you out of the game. It's convenient, but it's not good gameplay.
47. There's no room for multitasking. The quests are far too linear for that.
48. It's much easier to be evil than good. To get good points, you have to play through most of the game waiting for opportunities. But to be evil, all you have to do is hit someone.
49. The novelty of the dog wears off fast. It's hard to care about it when it always goes through the same motions, just a little machine. It will always do what you tell it to, so there's really no point in interacting with it.
50. The glowing trail is much better for finding hidden objects than your dog, who rarely turns up anything worth finding. So there's really no incentive there to keep him alive.
51. There are no good secrets. Skorm's Bow in the original, for example, made for a fun and confusing challenge. Now everything is far too laid out. There's no mystery and no challenge. Not that the prizes are even worth getting.
52. Making people fall in love with you is far too easy. The moment you walk into a town, you already have swarms of men and women asking you for a wedding ring.
53. They should have kept some sort of boasting system for quests. Although, since they took out rewards for quests, I guess this makes sense.
54. Does it seem right that one of the jobs available is blacksmithing, in which you spend all day making swords, and yet you can't make weapons for yourself? It doesn't seem right to me.
55. The augument system is terrible. Weapons with augument slots cost much, much more than their counterparts, are only available at highter levels, and have far fewer slots than the last game.
56. It's never explained who the bind seeress is, or what her connection is to the blind seeress in the last game, which took place hundreds of years ago.
57. You know what would be helpful? A world map. So we can actually see where things are. And not get lost all the time. Or are we expected just to fast travel everywhere? Yeah, that's immersive.
58. Two-player mode is bad. The camera is uncontrollable. It's impossible to look at anything or find anything.
59. In addition to that, movement is severely limited.
60. Why is the strongest sword in the game also the fastest? For that matter, why is it the strongest at all? It's not that special.
61. There are too few demon doors.
62. Opening said demon doors is frequently far, far more trouble than it's worth.
63. 50 gargoyles is at least 10 too many.
64. 50 silver keys is at least 15 too many.
65. Too many people are clones. It's frightening.
66. Considering all the different things you see the populace wearing, there's a very slim selection of clothing. Why can't I get, say, a top hat? Or some of those black rags?
67. The game tries to create "atmosphere" with scary situations. It's impossible to be afraid of anything when you're an invincible warrior with god-powers.
68. If you don't care about attractiveness, the scarring system is really pointless. It just makes you invincible.

I think that about covers it. I'll edit later if I think of anything else. In short, it's brief, unchallenging and unrewarding. I'm glad I got that out of my system. Take that, O brother-of-mine.