Bad timing

I didn't want to go out tonight.

My mother told me to go for a walk, just a short one, and there's no arguing. I wouldn't know how to argue. She's never seen the giants, or the watchers, or the great birds during the night. She doesn't know what's out there. She doesn't understand why I'm afraid. She doesn't understand how they can hurt... and if I try to explain... more bad things will erupt. No good ever comes of me talking back. So I had to go. Besides, it's safer to keep moving.

I felt it as soon as I stepped outside. Warning lights blinking on and off all through my head, I saw it as soon as I began walking. Dark fire. And I knew, coming for me soon... was a Dark Giant. I kept walking, wondering why. Where was I going? Why was I doing this? Why did I keep going, when I knew the danger? Why?
Near the end of the street I finally saw it. It was coming towards me. I spoke aloud. "If it got me now, would anyone notice?"
Across the street, it towered over me.
"Would I notice?"
It was right next to me.
I closed my eyes. "Would I care?"
And then it reached out and touched me.

Seriously, that's all it did. It touched me. In the side.
It was a strange feeling. Not as though something had taken hold in me; not that kind of feeling. More like when something really cold is pressed against you, and it leaves a cold impression when you take it away. Not like that, but it was that sort of feeling. Suffice to say it was unlike anything I've ever experienced - certainly not in a positive way, but not quite in a negative way either. And so, asking myself over and over what had just happened, I carried on.

I didn't mention. That night, at jiu-jitsu. I was trying a few empathic exercises, measuring levels of focus from groups and how they changed as movements became more or less complex, when I felt something... strange. A presence. Something possibly... malignant. I honestly don't know. I did my best to hide for the next ten minutes or so.

Walking on, I decided to take a shortcut across a field. But then, looking up, I saw to my surprise the dark fire in the sky. I'd never seen it so close, right overhead. I told myself to back up and go around it. Instead I kept walking. I felt a slight shiver as I came under its shadow. I came to a path. "I can take this path," I said, "and go straight home. I need to get out of here. It would be a very, very bad idea to continue." I didn't take the path. I couldn't seem to stop myself.
The fire was centered over the school, right there in front of me. And there, right in the middle... something was there. Something big. Not quite as big as the Giants, but somehow more menacing. A great winged, horned beast, connected to the fire above by a dark light. Not the Dark King, no... but I still felt a dark sense emanating from this creature. I have named it the Fire Prince. I told myself to stop walking, right this instant. I couldn't seem to stop.
"You can't fight that thing," I said. I didn't stop. "What are you trying to prove?" I came closer and closer. "God," I whispered. "Help me." A strange move, for me. I don't usually turn to benedictions... perhaps I should, more often. Perhaps a certain someone has been a good influence on me.
It was as though the night became day. The sun shone through the fire, and the beast vanished just as I reached it. It stood before me, exactly the same but suddenly my height. Yet forward I kept walking. Drawing closer and closer, I took a deep breath...
"Hey, do you know what time it is?"
"Yeah, it's about quarter to nine," I yelled back to the guy with the cigarette. I looked down. I was standing right where the prince had been. Uncertain, I took a step forward -

Three slashes, down and to the left. Two more, down and to the right. All over in a second.

Don't ask how I managed to get home. It wasn't easy.
I think I'm going to be okay. These were wounds meant to hurt, not to kill. God only knows what would have happened if I hadn't asked for His help; and I mean that literally.
And she's gone.
Tonight's the last night. Tomorrow morning she leaves. And we've said our goodbyes. Of all the nights, it would be the one... when I can't even tell her... how much I need her.
But maybe that's for the best.
It's for the good of everyone that she's going away. She's happy, the kids are happy, and because I know she's happy in a way I'm happy too. And I'll miss her terribly... but it's not forever. Few things are, really.
But look. I'm fine. When it comes to it I generally am. Wounds heal. Everything's better in the end. You'll see.
Oh, and when I say "the kids" I mean the ones she's working with at the camp. Not our kids. Because that would be weird. Very much so.

I can hear fireworks.

This is not the straw that broke the camel's back. This is the veritable crabload of bricks that crushed the camel completely, leaving only a greasy stain that no one wants to clean up. I just don't want to ruin another relationship because of the stupid and crazy things that happen to me. After all that's happened, I don't want to drive her away...

I still don't know what shape it is.

First day of school. Interesting, to say the least. The plan is, you see, to cram a weeks worth of learning into every day, so things are a bit rushed. At least there's only another 17 days to go.

I made the following notes, detailing my experience:
higher male/female ratio
no visible maps
colours: acceptable, if bland
equipment: standard, I suppose. at least we have actual chairs.
There is screaming in the distance. Loud noises
General aura: one of high tension - unspoken
People: nice enough. Some intel, some not. Don't know enough to tell yet.
Teacher: beard.
Numbers: sensical.
Current music: Shut Me Up, MSI
Smells: new school, tinted with use
pressure on outer edged of face, strongest beneath eyes.
No bell system. Strange.

Seriously, my teacher does look like a cross between my old Science teacher and Hugo Weaving with a huge beard and threatening eyebrows. Tis strange.

I also made the following observations during the breaks:

Are stereotypes formed slowly based on the actions of several individuals over a period of time or can each one be individually traced back to a single person whose actions and appearance defined a paradigm at one time during one single event?
One single moment that changes the way the world sees itself forever?
Who are these people? Where were they? When did they become the ones to represent their race? And if we could change the exact moment when that image spread, how different would the world be now?

In the human race there is no finish line, but that won't stop people from doing whatever it takes to reach the front.
It doesn't bloody matter who's in front.

Random blog experiment:


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net


Hope that works.

I've also been pondering the question of power lately. Not physical power, mind; or at least, not directly. Let's start with that example, though. Muscles power us. When we don't use our muscles, they atrophy. When we work our muscles, they tear and rebuild themselves. That makes us stronger. I think people are the same way. Some people are naturally stronger than others, but no matter who you are when you get hurt you recover stronger than ever. Scar tissue is stronger than ordinary skin, I like to say. And when people have to deal with things that are one way or another painful to them, they get stronger because of it. Some people break down because of nearly nothing. Maybe they're just made that way, or maybe they just haven't experienced anything stronger. Some of us, like one in particular, have endured great hardship; say, an absent father, angry mother and unreasonable family? She is one of the most powerful people I have ever met, and I admire and respect that. Then there's another I know whose mother died; not only that, but he saw his two best friends shot dead right in front of him. He's strong, all right... but also cracked, right down the middle. He was hit so hard he never fully recovered - fell into a slump that he never really came out of. I guess it's about how badly we can hurt ourselves without being crippled. And then there's me... I used to break down easily. Then something hit me so hard I shattered completely. I had to rebuild myself completely, in separate pieces, no less... there's very little of me left that's not scar tissue, but it doesn't disguise the fact that I am, fundamentally, broken. Because I couldn't cope with this staggering event I am now both the strongest and the weakest person you will ever meet, for exactly the same reason.

I can't believe no one's noticed my palm yet. I guess no one's really looking for it. I guess no one's really looking.

Something tells me she's been thinking about her dad lately. Can't quite put my finger on it; just a hunch. Yup.
I wish I could relate better... actually, that's a terrible thought. I'm glad I can't- no. Wait. Ach, meave. Forget it.
I just hope she knows that I'm there for her. I can't see myself as being able to help much, but if there's anything I can do... well. You know. Because I do care about her. Truly I do.
I would elaborate, but my laptop battery is about to die. Sigh. I wish I could just move the thing back up here.

So I'm a good choice?

Crush my windpipe. Go on. I dare you.

More and more I'm beginning to question my relationship status. Having a girlfriend who is completely free to push me around and knows it and does so is actually really comforting for me, seeing as I've never been particularly good at taking charge, but given that I'm the one using her for my emotional support it begs the question of exactly what she sees in me. But then, I've always said that. Certainly I'm proof to her family that she is capable of making good decisions, and I know she cares about me... I assume she cares about me. I'm doing my best not to look too directly into her mind, on the basis that weird shit attracts more weird shit in accordance with the Laws of Weird Shit, and if the past is any indication no good ever comes of this. And yet. She's made more than one reference to other boys in the future, and while she's probably just being a realist... what can I say? She is just being a realist. And it hurts, not just because she's thinking it but because she's probably right. I have no problem with accepting her for who she is but I can't ask anyone to accept me for what I am. I'm the one who needs to change. I'm the problem character here. And things are just starting to sort themselves out, and it looks like we may have a chance to be happy together... which means that another bad thing is going to happen soon and I'll spiral into depression again. Am I being manic-depressive? Pessimistic? Or, based on my past relationships, a realist? I honestly couldn't say.
I want to think that there's hope, you know? That this isn't just another high school romance leading to more bad memories. I know it's been long since proven that no matter how beautiful a love is, it will probably fail. Because we're young. Again, the youth. An older, "wiser" person might tell me that these trials and tribulations I live through will make me a stronger person, and each relationship I have will help me make better decisions in the future. But, I would answer, what am I supposed to feel now? Should I pursue relationship after relationship, knowing full well that it's destined to end in heartbreak, so that someday countless years from now I'll find someone to love forever? Is there no hope for me now? How can I go on, knowing that there is no hope for me until some set date so far away as to be invisible? It's all very well saying I'll be older and stronger and wiser in the future... but what about now? How can I live right now?
I know. I am weak. So what if I'll be strong someday? How is that supposed to make me feel right now?

I remember being... happy.
Humans are so strange.

Cotton candy

I seriously need to lighten up.

Knife or scissors. Choose.

I'm sort of hungry. It's a strange feeling.

The top of my mouth, just behind my front teeth, still feels sort of like an acid burn. I thought to myself, It's summer! Why don't I just take off my socks and walk around in sandals all the time? And then, an hour later, I remembered. I now have three huge blisters on my feet. Which I picked at. They were bothering me. And then I cut the flaps of skin off. So now they're all raw and I've taken to walking around on my toes. The cuts on my hand and shoulder seriously don't hurt at all. But then, they're not deep. I'm no fanatic. It's sort of annoying when the skin folds, though.

School starts again on Wednesday. I can't say I'm particularly looking forward to it. And it's at AY, of all places. This will be my first ever taste of high school in the real world. It's... frightening, in a way. I'm too used to band geeks.

My internets have been down for ages. It keeps telling me about the DNS cache. I don't know why it does it, I don't know what the DNS cache is, I can't even pronounce it. I am so sick of this DNS whatsit. So, so sick.

It's raining slightly. There's a bird chirping somewhere in the distance.

I've been getting more sleep than ever... and yet I'm always so tired. Inside and out. So, so tired.

Last night, I did not have an epiphany. More of an anti-epiphany. What I call a "who am I kidding" moment. In church, of all things. Someone had brought in a Nester. I couldn't tell exactly who, but I could see its spidery limbs and just sense it, like one can sense when something is rotting. I admit it, I was scared of it. As the night wore on it grew worse and worse, and fear mixed with anger; that someone had dared to bring a Nester in here! To this holy place! I was aware on some level that they probably didn't know they had it, and in fact I was the only one who felt anything at all, but I was scared. I panicked. Literally. I had a panic attack right there. I ran outside, gasping for breath, and curled in the grass beneath a tree, shaking. I stayed there for awhile. Then bugs started dive-bombing me. Big ones, around the size of beans. I must have had four or five of them crawling over me at one point. In some ways that helped. They weren't hurting me, and it was kind of comforting. Perhaps because of that, this panic attack wasn't nearly as bad as the others. I got better quickly and went back inside not long after. One bug followed me and I had to take it back outside to the other bugs. They seem to like me.
Anyway. Maybe it was while Mike was talking about how we influence others, or during the attack, or sometime after when I was sitting alone staring at the ceiling, but I realized: Who am I kidding. It wasn't a question. I'm clearly incapable of caring for a girlfriend. I'm not going to be a success in the world because I'm different and we all know it. I lack the social skills needed to keep friends. I try to be religious but fail, every single time. I like to think I'm something special but I'm probably just crazy, or more likely have too much imagination. That's what everyone wants me to think, anyway. I don't really have any sense of my own emotions. And I'm so wrapped up in my own deluded self-pity that it's a wonder I can see anything in the real world at all any more. Hope? Who am I kidding.
And yet, you ask, if you've really lost hope, then why don't you lose the girl, drop out of school, get as much sex and drugs as possible, abuse everyone, and/or just kill yourself right now, destroying your life and the lives of those around you in search of cyanide and happiness? And I don't really have an answer to that. I can only say that that's not the kind of person I am. But if I really am, deep down, a good person... then why must I hurt myself so? And again, I don't really have an answer.
Hope? I wonder.

Late as gravy

Insides: squirmy. Bits are still shifting about. Still full of gas. Sometimes I really hate my body. Not so much the outside; that I've learned to accept for what it is. It's the inside that's awful. Sums up me, really.
Maybe that's what I'm like. Like a broken mirror... crystal? Snowflake? Yeah, that's appropriate. From a distance it's all glittery with hints of a lonely heart, but inside it's just glaring light reflected off of razor-sharp edges trying to hide the screaming darkness at its core...
Maybe I'm too hard on myself. I keep telling myself I'm a good person. I'm not sure we believe it.

I seriously hope this sickness is just pressurized intestines combined with my natural intolerance for food. If it's something else... If this is just Skeleton screwing with me there will be bloodshed. Honestly, sometimes these "defense mechanisms" are just too over-the-top. I don't need protecting in this case.

On the subject thereof... guilt again? I don't know. I do so desperately crave physical contact. Having someone to hold is at least as- a mearth of a lot more necessary than food. I just keep pushing it, over and over again, and we all know eventually it's going to go over the edge. Not that edge, the other edge. I'm just afraid I'll become too obsessed with the physical side and let myself get pushed away.
Why am I so afraid?

Psht, forget it. I may as well ask why I hate myself so much. I'm young and stupid and might not survive to know anything else. I predicted this would happen to me years ago but there was nothing I could do. There's never anything we can do to stop the ever-spinning wheels of Time pulling us further and further into the future, towards everything we will ever love or hate.

Now I must stop writing before I become completely emo for the night. Ugh. Sometimes I doubt writing out my thoughts is really all that productive.

Tiger Wolf

Why are humans so afraid of hives?
Is it because we associate them with insects and aliens?
Is it because we're afraid of losing our individuality?
Or is it because they're better than we are... and we know it?
And there's nothing we can do about it?

Babylon's Curse

I had a strange dream last night. Not the dream where I woke up, though. That's said to be the strangest dream of all. We dream it just before we die... or just after. I hope to dream that dream some day.

Wooden houses. Winter. A pale, red-haired slightly gothic girl. We fight a dream battle, with hammers and energy balls and boomerangs made of ice. The battle rages on and on, until we reach a standstill. We stop suddenly and I hold her, never looking at her face. We stay like that for some time. Then some friends of hers arrive and she leaves, not looking back. I disappear, unnoticed.
The sun rises and it burns. All who are caught in its rays are poisoned and eventually vanish. Some of us escape through the forest, dodging sunbeams through the trees. A few drive off in cars, but I am cruelly left behind with only a pair of wisecracking horses for company. Eventually help arrives, but the sun returns and we are all burned.

It somehow reminded me of another dream I once had. Most of it was irrelevant. But this one image I have... A young woman, light-skinned, red hair laced with grey, cloaked in grey, wisps of cobweb in the air around her... and she was beautiful. More than anything else I remember that. She was beautiful.
I wonder what it meant.

We had a street party today. Free food, entertainment... and yet it sat heavy on my heart. It reminded me that I have only six months left. Six short months until December. It's... not easy, staring death in the face like this. True, I don't KNOW that I'm going to die... I only have... thoughts. Ideas. Visions. Predictions. And there's always the chance that I can win. Maybe I'll defeat the challenge that awaits me. Maybe I'll return with my head held high. Maybe. Maybe. I don't rightly know. I wonder if the world will end on that day. Probably not. Maybe for me. I don't know... that's the trouble. Six months until maybe I die. Should I be worried or not? I don't rightly know. I can't rightly say.
Six months. Such a terribly long and short time.

Hug levels reaching critical

Apparently I'm spending too much time on the computer.
That seems to be the reason for everything that's wrong in my life, according to my parents. I know this sounds stupidteenagerish, but seriously, there comes a point where I start to lose faith in their ability to judge the way my mind works.
Not getting enough sleep? You're spending too much time on the computer. (Acceptable.)
You have no social life? You're spending too much time on the computer. (Pushing it.)
The levels of stress in your life are causing you to lose the ability to function at all? No, don't even want to hear your stories about personality disorders and unexplained visions. I'm sure the recent trip to the hospital has nothing to do with it. It must be because you're spending too much time on the computer. (Seriously, WTM?)
I know I'm to blame as well. But sometimes I wonder.

I went swimming today. First of the year, and first ever unsupervised. Then I got out. Seriously, it wasn't that interesting.

I feel like going shopping sometime. I've never really been properly shopping. I can't really get anywhere by myself, and a lot of the things I want to buy I would have great difficulty explaining to my parents... a chew toy, girl's clothes, matches and candles, leather gloves, a sword-cane... or just a sword. I really would like a sword-cane, but one way or another for reasons I can't quite explain I really would like to own a sword. The issue is the different things would be for different parts of me - it's actually really funny to picture IMPACT wearing a dress - but people treat me, the whole me, as an individual. So you see the problem.

I can smell curry. Mmm. Curry.

Chris is on a band trip at the moment. He'll be back by tomorrow. Can only hope it goes better than mine. We performed at Wonderland, you see, early in the morning, so we had the rest of the day to wander around. The problem was we had to stay in groups. Anyone found walking alone would be in serious trouble. So I hitched myself to a group and instantly hit trouble; none of them listened to a word I said. Lunch came, and I went to get some, um... I forget what exactly. It had shrimp. Mmmmmmmm... shrimp. Anyway, when I returned with my food I discovered some idiot had wandered off by himself. The group decided to go off and look for him, leaving me alone with my lunch. I then spent the rest of the day looking for them. I remain deeply resentful, not so much because of them, but because it just drove the point home that this was how people thought of me, had always thought of me and always would think of me. Someone who doesn't matter.
I guess I've learned in some ways to accept that. Everyone else seems to.

He'll have worms today.

One word.
FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
...which, looking at it now, looks like it should be read "FREE DOOM". So really I should say
"FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEDUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!" but then people will accuse me of spelling it wrong. Sigh. Stupid words.
Speaking of words, I never have to look at that stupid typo again. There was a painting right across from my locker, depicting people as ants with the song on either side (the ants go marching one by one...) with the words changed. And DIRECTLY across from me was a typo. Misfourtune. That drove me up the wall once I spotted it, it did.

But anyway. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do, so for the first time in a long time I'm going to take the day completely off. Except for feeding Milo. Have to feed Milo. But apart from that...

So, in light of the good mood I'm in, I think I'll tell a joke.

There's a bar at the top of the CN tower, and this guy goes there every day. One day, he turns to the guy sitting next to him and says, "Hey. I bet you that I can drink thirty glasses of whisky in sixty seconds, jump out the window, fly around the tower, fly down, fly back up, and fly back in again."
And the second guy says, "You're on!"
So the first guy drinks thirty glasses of whisky in sixty seconds, jumps out the window, flies around the tower, flies down, flies back up, and flies back in the window.
And the second guy says, "Whoa. Well, I bet you that I can drink sixty glasses of whisky in thirty seconds, jump out the window, fly around the tower twice, fly down, fly back up, fly down, fly back up, and fly back in again."
And the first guy says, "You're on!"
So the second guy drinks sixty glasses of whisky in thirty seconds, jumps out the window, and falls all the way down to his death.
And the bartender says to the first guy, "Superman, you're a real jerk when you're drunk."