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B1ue

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  1. B1ue

    Twin Powers Activate

    By B1ue,

    Whenever I dream of a new monster, I feel compelled to write about it here. Which, odd, but I'll own it.
     
    Now I don't recall all the details of how this worked, but the dream started as a mystery that I was apparently trying to solve. Bodies were piling up in the town I lived in. And, weirdly, even though the bodies did not look much alike, they seemed to share the same DNA. Or, at least, partly shared DNA. Sort of a chimera. At least, half of them did. The other half were simply murder victims, obviously murdered by the chimera, but the chimeras had no real cause of death, They just...stopped.
     
    Helping me in my inquiries was a young, blonde woman from some Nordic country (I'm not certain which). Let's call her Annika. She aided me not because she was qualified, but because she'd been at the scene of one too many of the crimes for it to be a total coincidence, but she was certainly not the culprit, proved by physical, metaphysical, and even video evidence. She claimed that her twin brother, long dead, was manifesting around her and attacking random strangers. Indeed, the chimera DNA was very close to her own, close enough to have been a match for her brother, although why the bodies didn't share his face and where they came from in the first place was still a mystery.
     
    Sadly, much of this middle parts of this story are lost to my memory, but for some reason we wound up trapped in a locked house scenario. And, as in all such scenarios, people began dropping like flies. Naturally, Annika was nearby with all of them, but I too saw one or two of them. And what I saw astounded me. Out of thin air, her brother would spring into being, and suddenly attack another person. Usually with a knife. And because they were caught totally by surprise and off guard, his first stroke was fatal. Then, after, he would stiffen, the face would change utterly, and his body would collapse. Dead. Annika, meanwhile, was not helpful, curling into a ball and getting as far out of the line of fire as she could get.
     
    This would obviously not do.
     
    I was a minor spell caster in this dream, and conducted a seance to contact her brother. Nothing. Then I did another spell, one that would allow me to see into the spirit world (probably taking some pills in the process, which made real me nearly wake up in horror). Annika assisted in the first, but not the second. So she was not aware I could see what was happening the next time her "brother" appeared. Didn't know I could see her spell take shape, form a body out of random ether, and see her consciousness channel through that construct. It wasn't her brother's spirit killing people. It was her, forcing his body to form again and again while she controlled it to kill. I dismissed the construct next time it started to form, knocking her back into her own body and throwing her off for a moment, which I used to place a magical lock on her abiltiies. She smiled. "My brother tried that too, you know." She told me. "Just before I killed him. Turns out, if you kill your own twin, their echo stays with you. And you can force the doppelganger into existence."
     
    Someone else had showed her how to do it, because he too had killed his own twin, and had found in her an apt pupil. Right up until he became the first victim of the current murder spree.
     
    She then fought the binding, and used the innate connection she had to her twin to put her magical abilities into another spirit, evading my lock. I managed to shut down the doppelgangers as fast as she formed them, but let it distract me too much. Because she had a knife too, all this time. And managed to confuse me so much with the magical attacks I forgot to watch the physical.
  2. B1ue

    Yikes

    By B1ue,

    I had a sad little epiphany today. Well, technically, last night, but whatever. I went out, as I am wont to do when I don't feel like staying in playing video games and there's damn little else to do all night, and found myself at a gay bar, where a pair of out-of-towners tried very hard to get me to come to their hotel with them. While I did ineptly flirt back (I am morally opposed to buying my own liquor), pssh, like that'll happen, but along the way, one asked if I was going to college, and if so what was I studying. I laughed, and without thinking told him that I graduated college about ten years ago.
     
    Then the words processed, and I realized I wasn't exactly exaggerating. I graduated with the class of 2005. My eyes must have bugged out comically as the number sank in. I couldn't help but say aloud, "Wow I'm starting to age."
     
    Seeing as they were both a couple years older, this did not go down well, but whatever. I got my free drink, and didn't even have to deflect much.
     
    I don't have one of my own dreams to share, but instead I am going to tell my sister's. Around the time one of aunts passed away, she had this dream: It was after the rapture, when we'd all been dead and buried for years. My entire family, all of us back and back and back (it was a very large courtroom, so large we could only see our immediate closest couple hundred or so), were in a court room being weighed against our own sins. The devil was the prosecutor, slamming us left right and center, providing video evidence to go along with his accusations, branding us the worst Christians since anything. His litany went on for hours, uncovering every detail and transgression, turning bright red in his fervor. And did we, my family, cower under this onslaught of our own misdeeds? Oh my no. That's not how we were brought up, and not how we lived. We REVELED in it. We patted each other on the back "Damn bro, how the hell did you pull that one off?", nudged each other when a particularly good one was coming up "Oh, you can't miss this, this is the best part!" and occasionally peacocked when our various mothers cried out "You did what!", meaning we really had gotten away with it until that moment. Look, there's a reason almost none of us will take communion, while we try to be good people, ain't none of us good Catholics, and it has long since stopped bothering us. And even there, in the literal moment of truth, we could only be what we were made to be.
     
    Finally, it was over. Jesus, our defender, rose soberly, although to a great amount of tittering from the crowd. He looked God, the judge, straight in the eye, and said, "I don't know what he means. It didn't happen."
     
    God nodded. "Very well, case dismissed."
     
    The dream ended there. We aren't sure if, in the end, we were admitted to paradise. It is one thing to not let us be sent to our damnation, but quite another to let us party with the angels. Perhaps there is more than one paradise, and the one we got sent to has a two drink minimum. And extremely durable construction.
  3. B1ue
    This will not be a happy post. In fact, some may come away from it thinking that I am attacking them, even if I name no one by name. They...won't be entirely wrong.
     
    I've been reading this morning some articles on diversity in Fantasy. Specifically, ones related to the Pathfinder Campaign setting, which has made a genuine effort to be inclusive and diverse, on several levels, in their characters. While the articles themselves have not upset me, the comments. Oh, I made the mistake of reading the comments. And while my rage has burned off, the bewilderment has not cooled.
     
    A step back. I do not pass for White. I never have. Because of this, I have always been othered, to the extent I am now genuinely comfortable standing out in any group of people. I have embraced my square peg status, and know that the instant I open my mouth, or even just walk in a room, I have separated myself from my peers, such as they are. But I was not always so calm about it. And it's not like I like that I am made to feel strange no matter what crowd I am in.
     
    So those rare moments when I see someone like me, or even close to me, in media, I am unnaturally enthused. I watched Teen Wolf for three solid seasons because both the titular character, and the actor that plays him, is half-Hispanic and a California native. I forgave that show a lot because that was true, and it's only now that the actor himself has made a blunder I cannot forgive or get passed that I have dropped it.
     
    Paizo's Pathfinder is one such product that made that attempt. Really, it's pretty awesome how diverse it's characters are depicted both in its main sourcebooks and the smaller sidelines that they continually release. I think it's awesome anyways, and several others have pointed out how awesome it is. I was reading those articles, because I needed something to salve my rage over an idiot claiming that females intrinsically have different personalities than males, even in a fantasy setting where our real world gender constructs don't necessarily apply.
     
    But, then, I made the mistake of reading the comments. Apparently, not everyone feels this is awesome. The comment that sent me into a blinking, gesticulating rage was this pair of doozies from the same person:
    And
     
    And, wow, I just pissed myself off again rereading them. So I can say with full honesty that my initial reaction is somewhere along the lines of, "go fuck yourself. No, really. Get that shovel and really work yourself over."
     
    As it would do little good to actually tell the person this, seeing as the comments were made two years ago and the commenter in question was making a genuine effort to be honest, sincere, and non-confrontational with his overall posts, I suppose I can let it go. However, if you fail to see what's wrong with those comments, let me tell you a couple of things.
     
    Thing 1: Privilege. It's a thing. It's not just thinking that everyone can relate to straight-white-males, it's the far more dangerous thought that everyone should. That it is acceptable for that to be the default, because everyone natively feels included when stories are about that subgroup of humanity. While this thought is genuinely accepted, even codified within our language (ever think about why male pronouns can be universal, but female ones can't?), it is a lie. It is a construct; something unnatural, something that is forced and jammed and reiterated over and over until it's not worth arguing about anymore. I won't fight it. I don't blame anyone else for not wanting to. But I will point it out for the lie that it is. And I acknowledge that it hurts people, albeit not intentionally.
    Thing 2: I find it remarkable that this commenter has no problem stepping into the role of a dwarf, or elf, or dragon-slayer, but a Black person is going too far. And, actually, I don't find it remarkable. Just very, very annoying.
    Thing 3: And this is the big one. Do you have any idea how frightening this kind of thinking is? I was reading another article recently, pointing out that the lack of diversity in dystopian literature, when encountered, is a bit chilling for the diverse. Because it forces us that don't see ourselves within that world to wonder if we've all been killed off. Of course, with some stories, I think that's exactly the conclusion we're supposed to reach.The Giver, for example. A Handmaid's Tale for another.
     
    I don't have any solutions, and offer no wisdom. But please, keep in mind that not everyone looks at the world the same way. Some of us see every middle-aged White man as a possible threat, knowing they are far more dangerous than we could ever be. Because the world relates to their story, not ours.
  4. B1ue

    Too Much Television

    By B1ue,

    This dream-story was pretty obviously inspired by American Horror Story: Coven. The characters looked different, mostly, although sometimes not (it being a dream). Strangely, one person in the dream version looked like Jensen Ackles. I don't exactly disapprove, but I watch nothing he's on, and I wonder how he wandered on set, as it were. Another influence would have been Tanya Huff's Gale Girls novels. There was one line of dialogue that I remembered that I unfortunately had to leave out, because they reason I remembered it in the morning was because it was nearly a direct quote from Enchantment Emporium: "Glancing down at a tanned forearm that screamed don't even fucking think about it to anyone with the sight...."
     
    There was also slightly more to it than what I have written here, but this is the part that made enough sense to be written down the next day.
     
    Graduation
     
     
    Scarlet pushed my door open, gently knocking as she did. “Rafael. Will, and his family, are here to see you.”
    There were quite a few things Scarlet could have had to speak to me. Even two-thirds drained, my magic was needed. There were too few of us left, and I’d proven myself trustworthy to her and the other leaders. There was even talk of admitting me to their number, despite my lack of magic and age. I doubted anything would come of that, but Scarlet popped in often to ask for my thoughts on our current rebuilding efforts.
    So, as I said, there were several things I expected her to say, but that wasn’t one of them. “I have nothing to say to him.”
    She smiled. “Right. But, as I said, his family is with him. I don’t know if you’ve met his parents, but Angela is here. Do you want to turn them away too?”
    “Hell,” I said. I looked down, running a hand through my hair to avoid her eyes. “Do you know what they want?”
    “I am guessing they want to say goodbye. Will and Angela, I mean. All four of them are moving to Virginia later this week. His mom put it for a transfer to ship duty, and it looks like someone got it fast-tracked.” It was remarkable that she in no way betrayed the smugness I knew she had to be feeling. “They thought the change of location might be best for all of us.”
    “Yeah, I can see that.” I eventually looked back up to say, “I guess I can do that.”
    “I think you should,” she admitted. “It’ll be better for you later, I think. See me after though. You might need that, too.”
    I nodded, getting to my feet. As I passed her on the way out, I gently squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks, Scarlet,” not being specific on what I was thanking her for.
    “Anytime.”
     
     
    When I entered this little academy, we had been under a siege. A group of hunters, led by a fully trained mage had decided we needed to die. Aided by a traitor within, Scarlet’s husband and fellow teacher, in fact, they were picking us off one by one, students and staff alike. And at that, it was still safer for me inside than out, because initiates outside the house were being killed or enslaved by our enemy at an even faster rate. In an effort to protect himself, Will had used a rare talent of his to drain magic on one of his fellow students. Unfortunately, he had not used it well, and had accidentally killed her. That added a new dimension to the threat, and everyone increased their guard. The danger was still there, so Will had to pick his next target carefully, and finally picked the newest student, so new to magic that he didn’t even know what it was supposed to feel like, let alone see it. Me.
    Of course, getting to know me well enough to place a draining mark on me had consequences he didn’t foresee, but that was later, after he’d already raped my magic. But that change in feeling was enough to make him step up to the mob, leading us students to hold them off during their final attack as the teachers dealt with both traitor and the hunter’s leader. Thanks to him, we survived. Most of us anyways. But he’d almost drained me dry to do it, and it was obvious during the aftermath what he’d done to me. So instead of the acclimation of a hero, or the death sentence of a murderer, the council split the difference, declared him graduated from the school, and told him to get the hell out of town, or else. It seemed his family had believed them.
     
     
    I actually had met Will’s parents before, a couple of times. His mom, Camilla, who everybody addressed as “Chief” instead of “Ma’am,” was a well-built tall woman, who did not smile often but did not go out of her way to be intimidating. His mother Mika was much more delicate and fine-boned, with the gift for smoothing awkward moments away. It was pretty clear which woman had birthed which child, Angela was taller than all of them and verged on burly, while Will was deceptively nearly as delicate as his mother. The way they all acted though, it was never a question that they saw themselves as a family, and both parents had been kind to me. I would miss them.
    “Rafael,” Chief said, nodding a greeting.
    “Chief, Ms. Wu,” I replied back, with my own nod to each. “Angela,” she got smile, and she pulled me into a brief but bruising hug. “Will,” I said at last to the last. I gave myself points for keeping my tone even.
    He took both of my hands in his. “Rafa.” He looked like he wanted to say more. So did I, I would imagine. Neither of us spoke.
    Chief eventually spoke up, “I’m sure Ms. Florentine already told you, but we’re moving out of state on Friday. I put in for ship duty, now that we’re free to move around, and Mika and the kids decided to follow me.”
    “They were making us move anyways,” Angela explained, “to free up our house for the new chief that was taking Mom’s slot here. Since we’re moving at all, may as well move to her new homeport.”
    “It’s the way it goes when you marry into the fleet,” Mika said. “At least she was able to avoid ship duty while the kids were young. They’re both old enough to decide their own minds.”
    They faltered. It wasn’t like they could say, “Keep in touch,” or “don’t be a stranger, we’re keeping our cell phone numbers,” because I wouldn’t keep in touch and wouldn’t keep their numbers, whatever they said, and they knew it.
    And the reason for that was still holding my hands, trying to lock his gaze with mine. “Can we talk, Rafa? Just the two of us.”
    I pulled my hands away from him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Somewhere, Scarlet was probably annoyed at me, but I really didn’t think it was a good idea. Just the two of us, out of range of any help… it wasn’t happening. I genuinely believed him when he said he regretted his actions, but I was not sure that regret would stop him from finishing the job. Nor would the threat of Scarlet’s vengeance deter him from draining me fully dry; it never had before.
    He seemed to realize my distrust. “Rafa, I don’t know how to say how sorry I am.”
    “I get it. I do,” I said. “You were doing what you had to do. It didn’t look like any of us would survive, and what did you owe me? Or Shannon? And, ultimately, using up my power in ways I flat didn’t have the knowledge to use it myself is what saved the day. But Shannon is still dead. And you nearly killed me. I can understand what you did and why you did it, but I don’t know if I can forgive it.” Emotion was creeping in, finally, as I looked him straight in the eye. I don’t know why he needed privacy, in that moment no one else existed anyways. “I will never forget it, either.”
    There wasn’t much to say after that. We talked a bit anyways, Mika saying she would try to find a teaching position out there. “Maybe even on base; they hire civilians when they need them.” Angela looked forward to dominating a whole new volleyball team, and did not think it would hurt her chances of a scholarship. I nodded along and murmured some polite words, but spoke as little as I could, and said nothing about my new duties. Will said nothing at all.
    After about ten minutes, the Chief made a show of looking at her watch, and suggested, “We should probably get moving.” They all stood and began to walk away. I kept motionless watch from the porch. But halfway down the path, Will suddenly spun back around and swooped in to try and capture my lips with his. But I turned my face away, and he got my cheek instead. “I love you, Rafael.”
    “I would have loved you too,” I said. He closed his eyes, in pain or ecstasy, I refused to guess, and he went to catch up to his family.
     
     
    Scarlet was waiting for me just inside, sitting by the window with a clear view of the porch. She clearly felt no need to pretend she hadn’t heard the whole thing, not that I was surprised. “You okay?” She said.
    “I will be. After you remove the marks he put on me.” She raised an eyebrow. “One on the back of each of my hands,” I said, rubbing the spots in question. “And one on my face,” I pointed to where he had kissed me. “I can feel them now. I must be getting better at this, because I couldn’t feel them even last week. They just felt like a part of me.”
    “I can do that,” she said, still obviously concerned, and enunciating carefully to show it. “But are you sure you want me to?”
    “Of course I do!” I shook my head, letting the small pull of hair tossing around help keep me focused. “Whatever my feelings about him, I can’t trust him again. His magic on mine makes my skin crawl, now that I know what he’s capable of doing.”
    “I can understand that. Does that mean you want me to remove the rest of the marks he placed on you?”
    “Rest? I thought you all removed them already.”
    “No, only the ones he used to drain you. Most of them we left alone.” She let her expression relax into a searching look. “I know you can’t see magic like I can, but you really can’t even feel the others?”
    “Just these new ones.”
    “Rafa, Will practically has you covered in his marks. Low powered ones, things he didn’t need to drain you or anyone else to pull off, but dozens of them all over your body, enough that they almost looks like clothing to me. He must have been applying them any time he touched your skin.”
    I thought through the implications of what she was saying. “So, if you can see them, and the other teachers can see magic too…?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Yes, it was immediately obvious when you two started sleeping together. That great big mark saying ‘Piss off,’ to anything with the sight made that pretty clear.”
    “I am never going to be able to look Mrs. Featherstone in the eye again.”
    Scarlet laughed. “Oh, but it’s cute. He’s hardly the first to do that, you know.” Her smile slipped away. “He’s hardly the first to do any of what he did.”
    My expression must have looked thunderous, because she made me take her seat as she stood. “Will was wrong. He did a terrible thing to you and Shannon, and it got Shannon killed. But in the end, he chose to save you before himself.”
    “Even if it half killed me to ‘save’ me.”
    “I didn’t tell you to forgive him. But remember this. There are reasons, good reasons sometimes, for the wrong things we do. You don’t need to forget the wrongs, but also remember the reasons.”
    “Fuck his reasons.”
    Scarlet knelt down, and took my hands just like Will had. “Don’t make the same mistakes I made. Remember the reasons, because if you assume evil is going to be obviously evil, you won’t recognize it when it’s in your arms at night. We both missed it,” she admitted. “Let’s not miss it in the future.
  5. B1ue

    As I go to sleep today

    By B1ue,

    My mother called yesterday to relay some comments my aunts had to say about me. I was well-mannered, so helpful, they said. They told my mom that she raised me right. As I have been at times compared to a permanently boiling over teakettle, I find these comments both amusing and a bit worrying. As blunt and basically arrogant as I am, the only kind of person that would think I had good manners must have an interesting view of the world. But, that's my family. I tell people I'm the nice, mellow, good child. And I'm not even lying.
     
    No nightmares to report, though something odd did occur the other day. One skill that I do have is being able to wake from dreams. ot exactly a rare gift, I know, but I am told that not everyone is able to do this, or do it without penalty as I am able to. In fact, there are specific therapies designed to give people who suffer from chronic nightmares and PSTD that ability. I sometimes make the choice to not wake up from a dream, but usually if I realize I'm dreaming, I wake myself right up. Except for exactly twice in my life, one of which was the other day. I woke up, but in the dream, as if I was drowing in it, and could not quite push far enough out of it. I even realized withint the context of the dream that I was dreaming, that the abusrb reality presenting itself to me could not be. That didn't wake me up though, which it has almost every other time before.
     
    Naturally, after "waking," I laid back down and went to sleep, waking for real a bit later. That was disconcerting, to say the least.
     
    Well, now that I am well below the cut, I am going to brainstorm ideas for a novella. If there are any judges for that watching.
     
    Evil healing god
    -God of Escaped Consequences, directly opposed to God of Redemption and Goddess of Purity. How his cult gains a foothold in one city. Actions have consequences is the theme. Possibly a bit highbrow for my own tastes.
    Nightmare
    -dunno, but I'm sure I'll think of something along this line. I think of them often enough. Maybe I'll jsut read older entries on this blog.
    Werewolf story, possibly riff on "Magical Negro"
    -A man with no past coming through, saving a young White guy four times. The fifth time, he kills him? Someone close to him? His powerbase? POssibly along the lines of the fisherman, but I'd like for there to be some kind of payment there.
  6. B1ue

    Singing Against the Noise

    By B1ue,

    Hush little baby, don’t say a word
    Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird
     
    It was my niece’s favorite nursery rhyme. Always calmed her down, usually put her to sleep. Even when I sang it, which, I will admit, is no experience for the discriminating. Her tastes have complicated since, but what can you expect out of a three-year-old? I was fourteen myself, singing loudly if inexpertly. I had to be loud to drown out the pounding of my sister, who was at that moment trying to break down the locked door I was behind.
     
    A step back. My sister is a drug addict. Arguably has been my entire life, certainly for as long as I can remember her. She has given up all six of her children to other to raise. This is the one positive thing I can say about her, that she, when lucid and in the few moments she’s been sober, recognizes that she’s no mother. This was not one of her sane moments.
     
    And if that mockingbird don’t sing
    Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring
     
    We were visiting my aunt at the time. My mother, another of my sisters, myself, and my niece. We knew the dangers, that my sister had shown up from time to time at my aunt’s house, demanding money or help or whatever until she could be sped back off on her way. My aunt lived with her adult son, a grandson near my age (who was quite a bit bigger than I was, if younger), and one of her son’s friends. She never encountered much resistance from my sister before they made her see sense.
     
    But we had my sister’s child. And she was just lucid enough to realize it.
     
    “You stole my baby!” she had screamed at us. “Give me back my baby!” She lunged at us, my niece and me, between the arms of my other sister and my mother.
     
    “My room!” My cousin yelled at me, not even looking at me as he joined the fray. His nephew also stepped between, helping them push her back a room. There were four of them against her, but my sister was motivated and painless, and was not yielding easily. I grabbed my niece up with the seconds they bought me. I did not for a moment resent being sent to safety. I was, besides the toddler, by far the smallest and lightest of everyone in the house. If someone had to stay with her, keep her calm, I was the natural choice. And I would have one other edge.
     
    “Hey,” he yelled at me. I caught his eye for one second as I closed the door with my foot. “Top drawer,” he told me.
     
    I door closed on the sight of my sister, somehow, struggling past them all. I worked the deadbolt while juggling my crying niece, blessing his teenage needs that drove him to install that locked that I only barely started understanding myself at that age. Seconds later, my sister was pounding on the door, yanking hard on the knob, but we were for the moment safe. I used the time to check the top drawer.
     
    It was what I thought: his quite illegal knife, very sharp, as long as my forearm at the time.
     
    You’ll still be the prettiest girl in town.
     
    My niece was as calm as she was likely to get, with all the pounding on the door. They’d wrestled her off twice, but she still kept on. My aunt had called the cops, but it wasn’t like they were in a hurry. In that neighborhood? With a Mexican family? Better to pick up the piece than to become one, they’d say. Have said. To our faces. But as the door, which unfortunately was not as well made as the lock, began to give, I knew I didn’t have their luxury.
     
    I kissed my niece on the forehead. “Close your eyes,” I told her as gently as I could. She hid her head underneath the pillow, and I hoped she would not peek.
     
    I am not strongly built. My sisters took after their football playing fathers, but I took after our cheerleader mother. Quickness and balance were my strengths, not strength. But I trusted my sister’s blind rage, surging past all the obstacles we could throw, to do the hard work for me. It would have to be enough.
     
    I checked once more my nieces’ face was covered, and as calmly as I could picked up my cousin’s knife.
  7. B1ue

    Story blurb

    By B1ue,

    You're doing it wrong you know.
     
    I turned, abandoning for now the sidewalk chalk drawing I had been working on. There stood a young man, no older than his mid twenties, clothed in a black leather jacket and, judging by his smirk, enough arrogance that I dropped my guess to his age by five years. "Doing what wrong?" I asked,
     
    That sigil, he replied, pointing to my half finished art. You should use blue chalk for that line, or you'll never get it work properly.
     
    "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." This was more or less what I got for drawing outside where everyone could comment. Not that I minded the comments, when I was finished, but kibitzing, especially from someone old enough to be dating my sister already out of college made my teeth grind. No one that old every got what I was trying to see before, and wouldn't now.
     
    And he smiled back at my denial like it was too cute for words. Right, you don't know what I'm talking about. You just happened to make the sigil to protect against the walking dead all on accident. And why are you talking out loud?
  8. B1ue
    If you have not heard this singer, I reccomend you look her up. Her songs remind me a bit of Disco, especially in "
    ," and I mean that as a compliment. There's songs that will make me want to dance. This song just makes me dance, in the way that I first learned, where I didn't give a flying f**k who was watching or who laughed, it was me and the music and the fire and shadows of everyone else. 
    Since I've a tendency to recount dreams here, I'll do so again. I was being questioned, demanded answers of in my own home. They wanted to know who it was I'd brought home Friday night. As I work Friday nights, and am worringly private about my personal space, the answer was no one. This was not an acceptabe response. I don't know if they thought I was harboring a criminal, or was a criminal, or what, but it didn't matter. I finally realized they onyl wanted an excuse to dragme away, and that gave them one. Salt in the wound, I'd been getting out of the shower when they came to my door, and they picked my lock before I could open the door for them. They barely let me put pants on before they took me away. And I don't think the main agent wanted to give me that opportunity, but the local police were a bit agitated, and his partner intereceded, giving her permission when I asked. I don't think she was a hero though. I think she was setting me up in her own way.
  9. B1ue

    She's not there

    By B1ue,

    I've loved this song my enitre life. I usually think of the original version by the Zombies, but I've heard others that I've liked as well. I didn't even mind when "Glee" did a cover, though like all the times they've done a cover of one of my favorite song, I've been wary (though twice I feel their interpretation improved it on the original, such as "Bad Romance").
     
    And in all the times I've loved and thought about this song, there was one reading of it I never considered, and that stopped me cold.
     
    My aunt passed away a couple months ago. The scariest moment, the moment that drove me to tears, was a few months before when she had a bad drug reaction and lost herself for a couple days. There was just, no one home, and in one of the most intellegent and alive people I've ever met, this scared me more than the thought of her dying. This hit home what she was going through. And this song brought up that memory.
     
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5IRI4oHKNU
  10. B1ue

    Tribute to a Lady

    By B1ue,

    My aunt recently passed away. She's been fighitng breast cancer for almost five years, and we've had a few close calls this last year, but she finally asked to go home the week before christmas. I was working, and wasn't able to break away until Thursday of that week. She died that Wednesday.
     
    She was my mom's little sister and best friend. Smart as hell, pretty much the Tax expert for all of the relatives. And beautiful. Most of that side of the family has more looks than sense, but she had both and was the best looking of her sisters. Her daughter and I are nearly the same age, and were raised closer to siblings than cousins. She was, in many ways, a second mother to me, and coming out to her was nearly as scary as coming out to my parents.
     
    We finally had the funeral service the first week of January. My uncle wanted to wait until after the holidays, to not have their mother's death hanging over Christmas for my younger cousins. Not that it helped, but I don't think hewas ready to deal at the time, and it was his choice. My family was well behaved, for us. The lack of booze helped, probably. The church might even let us back one day. Oh, sure, one of my aunts has declared blood feud against a nun that told us where we were and were not allowed to put pictured up at the funeral, but since that aunt lives in a different county, I don't think much will come of it. There was only a little yelling, and my aunt (who is pushing 50) muttering "you're not the boss of me" once the nun was out of earshot.
     
    It was very much a women's event. I have many aunts, and more female cousins than male. Not only that, but my female relatives have in the main outlived their spouses and brothers, which is something I try not to think about very often. IN any case, that buffet line was organized by clan almost without conversation needed, and I found myself ejected from the kitchen pretty quickly and sent to organize the drink bar. I think I was only allowed to do that much because I used to be a waiter, or I'd have been made to wait outside with the other guys.
     
    There was a slide show of my aunt organized. My cousin spent an entire night setting it up, and putting it to music. I wish I could have helped, had known they needed help. Not only do I stay up all night regularly for work, but there were some songs I would have liked to add. "
    " made my mom cry when I played it for her, and I sang to her " My voice is not great, but she appreciated the effort. 
    I've cried little, myself. Not only because I've been expecting it for the last while, and was prepared, but I could see the exhaustion in my aunt's eyes whenever I've seen her this last year. She lived her life as a bundle of energy, strong and wise, opinionated and cantankerous. I've no doubt she would have been a crazy old cat lady, if only she hadn't hated cats. I will miss her, her example and drive. There was so much she didn't have time to pass on, that only she knew from my grandmother. It's said each generation is poorer than the last. We're proving it.
     
    Goodbye Aunt Linda. I thought it was nice of the church to read Proverbs for you, but anyone who's ever met you knew the reading wasn't something to live up to for you. It was just your life.
  11. B1ue

    Everyone break!

    By B1ue,

    The busiest time of year for my job is over. I did wind up accepting the promotion I mentioned last entry, temporarily though. I like to think I did well at it, at least, as well as can be expected with my immediate subordinate sulking for a month straight because I got the job he wanted, but I'm mostly happy to be stepping back to my old job. I say mostly because I'm going to be saddled with the laziest of the bosses, meaning I'm going to have to do my work plus hers. While I'm not unfamiliar with the problem, they could not have found a better way to punish me for not taking the promotion permanently if they'd founded a study. To which I say, well played schedulers. Well played. At least I get a trainee to help carry the load, unless they cut back again and he gets kicked to the curb.
     
    I discovered a early Christmas present today. Someone new moved into the apartment next to me. He's young, hot, and muscular. He also has a good looking girlfriend, but I can still look. At least, I assume he's the one moving in. I suppose it could be her, but he didn't glare at me the first time he saw me, and what guy would just nod/acknowledge the guy that lives next to his girlfriend?
     
    Had to crack and put that in writing somewhere, and the walls are too thin for me to make such comments over the phone.
  12. B1ue
    I am aware of this cultural phenomenon, but I thought surely, surely!, at least the members of my own family would be able to resist. We are not a shy, easy-going lot, after all, quite prepared to buck traditons on their head just to see what will happen. But no, I saw one of my cousins yesterday for the first time in about, oh, a year and a half, and low and behold, when he stood to take the dog out of his house, I couldn't help but notice his pants were sagging nearly off his butt entirely.
     
    Much facepalming ensues, by me at least. This particular cousin also got blessed by the muscle, skinny waist, and nice hair fairies, so why he'd delibretely make himself look like an idiot is beyond my ken.
     
    When I noticed his little brother was also doing this, all hope for their generation vanished. It also made me wonder if we perhaps needed to have supported my cousin, their mother, a bit more during their teenage years if this is the kind of thing she's letting them get away with.
     
    I also realized something I hadn't conciously noticed before. The boys that sag have some very colorful boxers, don't they? This must bring an extra complication to their mornings, much as their girlfriends agonize over earings, they must choose "what color will I choose to flag my ass with?"
     
    If you have not yet seen Glee's "Physical" music video, do so. Now.
  13. B1ue

    In need of a hug

    By B1ue,

    Been a while, eh? I'm actually good for hugging at the moment, but feel a bit down. Work is work, I am being pushed to accept a promotion I don't really want and in the meantime doing a lot of extra work because we're short a trained person. Plus, working the night shift wears me out. Also, there were a lot of somewhat depressing chapters released this week, and the combination of all that has me feeling gloomy. I plan to reread the entirety of The Ordinary Us, in hopes that will get me over it. Tommorow, I will hope for sunnyish weather and possibly a trip to a mall.
     
    As you might have guessed, I also had a dream this afternoon that weighs heavy on my mind. I was tempted to try and turn it into a story, but the protagonist needs work. To set the stage, imagine a 16 year old sophomore with two older brothers from different marriages (I think they may have been fraternal twins, but didn't look a lot alike, so here I change things) and a best friend, all four of whom are on the high school wrestling team. Imagine this kid, gay of course, got introduced to gay sex his freshman year when his older brothers took him and his friend aside one afternoon and "initiated" them into their JV captaincy. "The JV team always helps out the varsity, whatever we need," Mike, the eldest brother says, as he enters the boy Peter. The middle brother Aaron just grunts as he enjoys the best friend, whom everyone calls by his last name Larenwood (name is straight from my dream, and was spelled out several times, so I'm going to go with it). This incident has a lasting effect on Peter, who in addition to starting to mess around with Larenwood on an occasional basis, does everything in his power to ensure he is not placed on varsity for his sophomore year. He succeeds brilliantly, and plays it just well enough that he's made co-captain again. Larenwood, however, is placed on varsity, doing so well that the cocaptaincy for the first time is shared by three guys, and I'm betting you can all figure out who they are.
     
    None of this is earth shattering, yet, but Peter is a bit put out to be isolated from all three guys he's at all close to. Especially when Larenwood puts a complete stop on their sex games, and further starts coming to their house to be with his older brothers much more often than he wants to be around Peter, and all three begin excluding him more and more. By February, Peter is openly hostile to them all, Mike above all, whom he had openly idolized before all this. They are very confused, but assume whatever it is he'll get over. On Valentines Day, Aaron attempts to reconcile a little bit, partly because of that confusion, but mostly because he's horny and hopes Peter might be up for some fun. "You seemed to enjoy it those times last year." "f**k off." "Aw, come on, don't be like that. Help your brother out, please? I'm hurting bad, and Mike is all off with his boyfriend, so neither of them are interested in anything but each other." Peter snaps his head up, quite surprised, and then realizes what has happened without his noticing.
     
    "It's that f**king son of a bitch Larenwood, isn't it?"
     
    "Um, duh. They've been dating for months now. Where've you been?"
     
    "On my own, since you all dumped me!"
     
    "No we didn't, you've just been off on your own." Aaron realizes the stupidity of this statement. "Alright, maybe we have been a bit caught up, but those two have kind of been romancing each other, and all couples go crazy into each other when they first start out. They're opening up, why, they've let me play along since New Years. Mike said he wanted a little variety, and Larenwood is just too sexy to resist." Aaron smiles. "But like I said, they're busy. I was thinking about those times last year though, and how sexy you are too, and I just thought, if you were into it..."
     
    Peter punches Aaron. He's actually a fair bot stronger than his older brother, so Aaron goes down cursing, but bright enough not to get up. By the time he's able to see straight again, Peter has already left the room. Thirty minutes later, he's packed up and left the house entirely, not willing to spend another second in a place where the two boys he always loved and always lusted after only have eyes for each other, and didn't even want him for a pity f**k.
     
    ---
    Edited to add: The actual scene in the dream was very quick, almost totally the conversation with Aaron, but with a bit of flashback mixed in. And one scene later, which I didn't explicate, of Peter running away to live with his Aunt and Uncle, and somehow convincing them to put him up without alerting his brothers, though his mom gets a telephone call. Maybe they'd seen he was being excluded, too, and made an offer over Christmas?
     
    My actual problem that I had was motivation. What does the character want, but would resolve this conflict? While I was still dreaming, I couldn't see any way for him to win. That frustration truly ruined my morning coffee, let me tell you. I've since teased it out in my head a bit, but I'm still unsure how it would translate into a story. Still got some things to think about, I suppose.
  14. B1ue
    I could scarcely have imagined, when I started this blog, that it would morph more into a dream journal than anything else. I'm not shocked that I cannot maintain a proper blog. I do not have enough opinions or enough variation in my day-to-day life to justify one, even to myself. But there have been many, many fragments of dreams that I would wish not to lose. So here they'll be.
     
    I wrote the paragraph above, and this one, to create a buffer of sorts so that the actual dream image will be behind the cut, I hope. It was that bad. The narrative of the dream started with what I called in-story displacement. There was some sort of parralel world action going on, and I was trying to find my brother. Along the way, I theorized how I got to be in this world, and decided that this new reality was a five dimensional version of displacement. Time and syncrocity worked to put one another out of whack and in weak spots, people and power flowed through.
     
    One such place was called the Miracle of the Innocents. Apparently, a hundred or so years before my arrival, a certain warlord ruled. One town defied that rule, and so to teach them a lesson, he and his soldiers descended on the town's school, which was just outside the town's walls. They killed every single student there, drove iron spikes through thier skulls, and attempted to light their bodies on fire. But it didn't work. The fires, halfway through, suddenly went out all at once and would not light again. The bodies could not be moved from the pile that had been made of them, and as the days and weeks turned into years, they did not begin to decay either. When I arrived, looking for a place to make divinations to find my brother, the children were still perfectly preserved. The blood was even still wet, the coals born of the children that had been on the bottom of the pile still smouldering. The villigers, who left quickly, and everyone in the surrounding region decided that God had stopped time in that one place in order to force the warlord to face his own guilt. It quickly became a pilgrimage sight, and a small shrine, attended by a solitary priest, was made to attend it. I knew instantly that it was no miracle at all, merely a spot where time had been displaced. The atrocity widened and amplified the weakness, I was sure, but the weakness had probably always been there. And after I had worked my magic, using the spot to make ephemeral mental contact with my own future memories, the miracle ceased. The coals unleashed their pent up heat, and the fire blazed.
     
    The attendent priest threw himself upon the pile in expiation. My companions and I simply left.
  15. B1ue

    2010 US Census

    By B1ue,

    I'm at a bit of a loss. For those that don't quite understand why their Chicano and Latino friends are a bit bemused this week, Hispanic is no longer considered a race by the census. It's an ethnicity. I'm not entirely certain of the difference, or why the various Chinese races were lumped together but Japanese, Vietnamese, and Korean were separated out.
     
    As I mentioned in one of my first entries, I am racially mixed. A Mestizo, which is culturally and traditionally it's own catagory as opposed to White or Native. That this is not an option on the census is interesting, to say the least.
     
    My parents have put White on theirs. I will probably do the same, though the last option is a strong temptation. A friend of mine put, "I don't know. You tell me."
     
    Edit: BTW, I didn't explicitly say, but if you go far enough back, there is representation of all the above choices in my family's geneology.
  16. B1ue

    Ninja Gabriel

    By B1ue,

    I saw a roach the size of the palm of my hand the other day. A few things became readily apparent.
     
    1. I am able to leap across the room from a sitting position without either tripping or launching myself into a wall.
    2. I am able to nail a moving target with a book.
    3. I am able to do these two things in one smooth motion so that the entire incident took less than five seconds.
    4. I now need a new copy of Harry Potter Book 4 in paperback.
    5. I need to move. Now.
     
    While my finances such as they are do not support item 5, they did extend to several roach traps and a can of raid, which my entire apartment now reeks of.
     
    The following is a fan-fiction. Specifically, of Terry Pratchett's Discworld series.
     
     
    Eskarina of Lancre was unique in many respects. The first, (only so far) wizard to be female, and the only one to be trained by a witch, she was at a severe disadvantage trying to fit into the circles of wizardry at Unseen University. She tried, but as she grew past her teenage years and into the first part of her twenties, it became increasingly impossible. It did not help that she'd somehow missed the extra padding that was one of the few common grounds a maiden of the Ramtop Mountains and a wizard of this delta city had. Nor that she moved, not like a dancer, but as silently and as smoothly as any predator in the forests of her youth. Her childhood stubborness had grown into a steady, quiet determination. She'd perfected the squint, and found a soft voice and cool eyes were almost as effective. She'd never be attractive, but in these halls she was arresting, and that doomed her to far more attention than she needed at her time of life.
     
    Despite all that, she walked the hallways alone and unnoticed.
     
    Eskarina thought. About her life, growing up under the tutelage of the finest witch in recent history, not that any other witch would ever admit such a thing. About her life here, that was mostly books and talk and an entire world of old men who's smiles did not reach their eyes. About Simon, who'd rediscovered his stutter about when she turned seventeen, though only in her prescence, and so had not been able to say her name in almost four years.
     
    She'd almost started to smile then, when she thought about Simon, but it faltered when she remembered he'd not been included in this night's plans. She couldn't. Not when she didn't stand a prayer of success.
     
    That brought other memories. Of waking up from an afternoon doze every sense twanging all at once. It'd been her witch training, she'd decided, that gave her any warning. Witchcraft was about subtle things, small magics, after all. It'd been her university schooling and all those years of thinking like a wizard that kept her quiet during that fateful dinner, kept her from trusting her instincts and saying, "Wait, man, there is something very strange about that boy." Eskarina knew it was the wizardry that'd kept her quiet, since wizards don't tend to see small things as real threats. She hesitated at the sight of one, small boy, said nothing, and so watched the deaths unfold.
     
    Eskarina shook herself. She was thinking like a witch now.
     
    Come any disaster you could name, it was said, and dinner would still be served on time at Unseen University. This was proving true. The ranks had winnowed, though it had only been a week since Coin had declared himself master of magic and the University. The wizards in the rest of the world had not yet reacted, waiting to see if it would take care of itself, but everyone knew the towers would come, and the skies rent by lightning and fire. None here, the survivors, doubted for a moment what the outcome would be. It made for uneasy stomachs, as uneasy as their well-practiced gullets could manage.
     
    Since the not quite as crowded as they'd once been wizards were either lost in their own thoughts, meals, or covert glances at what Coin was doing next, hardly any noticed the slender figure of Eskarina enter the room. After a moment's focus that almsot pulled her face into the well-worn path of her squint, none of these men were still paying attention. It wasn't quite magic, Granny Weatherwax had explained. "More a trick of the mind. And no, it's not a matter of wanting to not be noticed. Might as well come out dressed all in red and playing a herdy-gerdy if you're going to want not to be noticed. You simply decided this is how it's going to be. And then it will be." There was more too it, of course, but witches hardly ever bothered to explain themselves. And Esk had understood.
     
    'This is suicide,' a thin, piping voice told her, inside her own mind. 'This is insanity! If you don't pull this off, you're dead. There won't even be a body left, you saw!' But since she'd long realized she was dead anyways, one way or another, the voice held little weight. She knew she'd have only one chance, one moment that her unnoticement would give her to cross the great room, come within arms reach of Coin, and end the matter with the sharpest blade she'd been able to come across. It was not likely to succeed. And she was not likely to survive the experience even if she did, of that she was quite sure. But it needed to be done, and no witch for as long as the Ramtop stones held memories shirked from what needed to be done.
     
    She wished she'd been able to tell Simon goodbye. She shook that weight away too.
     
    Perhaps it was that one thought of Simon that allowed him to pierce her illusion. No one would ever know. But the sudden gasp he made as he realized what she, his beautiful Eskarina was about to dare filled the room and suddenly everyone could see what he was seeing.
     
    Including Coin.
     
    Eskarina was too far away still. She was fast, mountain air did that to a growing child, but she was too far and Coin was fast too. She saw her own doom in his eyes as he lifted a hand to blot her out of existence. But if he and Esk were fast, Simon was faster still.
     
    Octorine shot out from Simon, a blast of pure magical energy what no human should have able to cast slammed into Coin's defenses. It distracted him, forced the boy to split his attention from the death coming from his front to the one from his side. He fired back, but Simon ducked and poured another spell out. All the wizards had been able to cast like that since Coin arrived, which had been the cause of no few of the deaths over the last few days. Simon knew he was no match for Coin in skill, but years of Eskarina's influence must have taken. He couldn't kill, but he could distract, and die as hard as possible for his love.
     
    It would still have been over in an eye blink if more wizards had not suddenly begun casting as well. Many at Coin. Some at each other, fumbling to protect the giver of more power than they'd ever dreamed. The entire room was at once a spectacle flashing magical death, knotting around the embattled Coin. Sprinting across, ever closer, hoping for just another three feet was Eskarina.
     
    Fire struck her from behind. It was never discovered whose. She fell forward, too gripped in frustration, and the awful realization that she'd failed, to even be surprised. Even in death, she maintained her grip on her knife, as if, somehow, she could still make her strike.
     
    As quickly as it'd started, it was over. Simon was half-melted into the wall behind his chair, hit by some many magical attacks that the slower reacting wizards he'd been sitted next to had been killed as well. The wizards of Unseen University shook themselves, took stock of the new gaps in their ranks, and watched in fascinated comprehension as the smoke cleared around the head table to reveal Coin, unhurt, though at least one wizard had been as unlucky as those seated next to Simon.
     
    Silence reigned, as profound and as eloquent as any speech. The wizards returned to their unfinished meal.
  17. B1ue

    So very tired

    By B1ue,

    I've decided never, ever, to heal another pick-up group. I don't care if they're competant. I don't care if the instance is easy. My hand hurts from chain heal mashing, and the boss is still alive, taunting me about the futility of it all. She also mentions "rise and exhalt" in a sultry voice and I'm trying not to think dirty thoughts when she does.
     
    Turned 26 last week. For my birthday, my parent's sent me their tax bill. I love my family.
  18. B1ue

    I may have a new hobby

    By B1ue,

    I like AMVs, an abbreviation that stands for either Anime Music Video or Animated Music Video. Thanks to Youtube, there's thousands of the buggers available at my fingertips, and every so often I go a hunting for them. In college, I had a blast with this, but since I am no longer current on Anime or Video Games, I don't get the references to a lot of them, rendering my enjoyment a bit less.
     
    Until this weekend.
     
    One of the videos I play a lot on Youtube is a Final Fantasy video set to Trapt's "Headstrong." Unfortunetely, due to copyright restrictions on the song, the video file on youtube has no sound. This is what the world of pirated music has done to us. But, hey, I don't mind, usually I just queue up "Headstrong" on iTunes and play it that way. It ain't perfect, but so few things are. Anyways, it occured to me to wonder how much it mattered when I hit the play button, since no matter how "off" the music to the video, it's going to tell some story. Not necessarilly the one the video editor had in mind, but one regardless. This quickly led to wondering what would happen if I played a different song altogether.
     
    So, yeah. 20 minutes later, I've played the video four times to Gloria Estefan's "Conga," Little Big Town's "Boondocks," "California Dreaming" by DJ Sammy and Reba McEntire's "Does He Love You?" For the most part it was quite funny, but there were times when the music for all four songs meshed just perfectly or juxtaposed ironically with the video. Since, I've been playing older videos that I liked and playing different songs across them. "Cruel Summer" by Ace of Base went surprisingly well with a video based on System of a Down's "Chop Suey." I'm still going through them, but it's been interesting so far. I may never hear a video properly again.
  19. B1ue

    Random Crap

    By B1ue,

    **It's okay to punch a strange person that runs a finger down your back to your ass when you're trying to pee in a public restroom, right? I didn't, simply grabbed his fingers and rolled his knuckles together, but it was a near thing.
     
    **In keeping with the tradition that the only people who friend me on Facebook are people I have no particular desire to ever talk to again, *ever*, my mom's family is one by one joining the mob. I think it's prudent now that there is no current contact information on there.
     
    **Speaking of my mom's family, I saw the entire Mexican army that is them a few weeks ago. Okay, well, not ALL of them, but several hundred. My dad defended my "lifestyle choice" to one of my mom's cousins in a, shall we say, less than diplomatic manner. I'd known before he could cuss in that many languages, but I'd never before seen a demonstration. By the look on my mom's face, neither had she. It was quite touching, really.
     
    **My niece managed to walk away from a fight this last week. This is most impressive, as none of the rest of us have shown the ability to do so, outnumbered, overmatched, or anything. My sisters and I have come to the conclusion that it must be the Ritalin.
     
    **Total spent on entire rest of my family today: $200. Total spent on new iPod for myself: $196. This is how I do Christmas shopping.
     
    **But because this is my life, I come home and check in with the family, only to find out that they all agreed last week to draw names and that I'm only expected to buy one small ornament. Most people might just turn around and return the gifts, perhaps smiling that they won't be feeling the pinch so hard this year. Not me. I worked an entire extra week over the last month to get everyone nice presents that they'd like. They are getting their bloody gifts and liking them now.
     
    **I just now have to go buy an ornament for my brother-in-law whom I'm not particularly fond of. I'm sorely tempted to buy him a "Team Jacob" ornament, and watch in glee as he tried to figure out what the hell it is. Actually, seeing as he's rather proud of being Mexican, I think he'd disapprove of the White boyfriend on principle, so he really might be on Team Jacob.
  20. B1ue

    Weezer

    By B1ue,

    Does the last stanza of "(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To" annoy anyone else? I feel there was a genuine missed opportunity there for a complete ballad. Specifically, instead of presumably getting married, the girl should have turned him down with an explanation that she was going off to college/military/ballet school/antique-roadshow-groupiedom/whatever.
     
    Perhaps I feel this way because I love the way Country music in particular takes a particular phrase and juxtaposes them against two different contexts. In this case, the first iteration of the chorus goes (after the protagonist has spent the better part of an evening chatting up this girl he met):
     
    "And the conversation stopped,
    and I looked down at my feet.
    I was next to you
    and you were right there next to me
    and I said 'Go---
    If you're wondering
    if I want you to, I want you to.
    So make a move
    because I ain't got all night.'"
     
    And this is the second iteration of the chorus, after a summer of dating and her dragging him to meet the parents. So far so good:
     
    "Then the conversation stopped,
    as I looked down at the ring.
    Your folks were next to you
    and you were right there next to me
    and I said 'Go---
    If you're wondering
    if I want you to, I want you to.
    I swear it's true
    Without out you my heart is blue.
    If you're wondering
    if I want you to, I want you to.
    So make a move
    because I ain't got all night.'"
     
    And then the song falls down into a pair of couplets basically saying they'd live their lives out together, though of course nothing so straightforward, and they basically repeat chorus one with some lame additions along the lines of "When the conversation stops and we're facing our defeats."
     
    I already stated how I'd story the song out, but the specific part that's keeping me from sleeping is I know how I'd do the chorus:
     
    "Then the explanation stopped
    and you looked down at your feet.
    I kissed away the teardrop
    that was rolling down your cheek
    and whispered 'Go---
    If you're wondering,
    if I want you to, I want you to.
    So make your move,
    Because we've still got tonight.'"
     
    Yes, I just wrote an entire blog entry so I could change 6 lines of a song. I couldn't help it. The story was demanding to be told.
  21. B1ue

    Every time I killed him

    By B1ue,

    It is difficult to make sense of my dream this afternoon. Sometimes, my mind forms a coherent narrative, with a distinct beginning, middle, and end. I blame being an English major for those days. But, more often it's more typical, with my dreams being more variations on a theme than simply one story. There are points to be made, however.
     
    I was a magical practitioner in a holy order, one dedicated to the eradication of an undead menace that was so far winning. Zombies would probably a good enough analogue, but I called them ghouls. There were several things we knew about the ghouls: 1, that they were not a natural occurrence but the result of a magical curse set about by a demon; 2, that once the curse fully took hold the ghoul was a literal extension of the demon's will, to the point that the body could work some of the demon's own magic; 3, that this taking over could be prolonged, defied, but never had we managed to cure someone. I myself was extremely skilled at containing the curse within the infected's body, for all that we rarely bothered with such techniques. Once someone had been bitten by another ghoul, claimed we called it, that was it. It was often better just to kill them.
     
    All that was nice and pretty up until the point my son was infected.
     
    In every variation, my son was infected. There were different reasons, all boiled down to being all my fault. There was a man in the hospital that I refused to allow my son to see. In some cases I merely thought it better he not see the man brought down so low. In one case, the man was my son's lover, and the there was no way in hell I was putting up with that. Another, where the boy was not my son but my younger brother, the man was my lover, and my brother thought of him as a surrogate father. Yet another, there was no man, and my son merely had an argument and simply wandered off into the night. In all cases, we quarreled, and the boy stalked off into the night. He was neither mage nor divine as I was, and could not hope to protect himself from ghouls as I could. So of course, we was infected. He had some weapon skill, so he survived, but he was infected.
     
    As adamantly as I had denied my son to go off on his own, so I denied my holy superiors the right to kill him. "He will be cured!" I shouted, pouring my strongest magics into containing the curse within his body, and taking further precautions of setting him into a holy circle, protected by warders of my own order. Such protections did not work forever, but they worked. As did my daily pruning back the efforts the curse had made in my son's body while I was out researching or fighting. It wasn't possible to rip the curse out by magic, or rather it was, but that would just kill him. You can be sure I checked this fact, on the very man my son had defied me by seeing. I think seeing me kill someone so casually, and ostensibly for him, shocked my son. This was a side of me hed never seen before.
     
    And would get to know all to well.
     
    For in every variation, I failed. And I killed him myself. The first time through, the ghoul occupying his body killed a dozen or so other children, residents of the order's orphanage that I'd stashed my son inside. They were innocent I'd deliberately risked by letting my son live, and their blood was on my hands. That was what I kept thinking as I held the ghoul down by magic and cut it in half with my sword. Thankfully, the rest of the time, I managed to get back before he'd munched on anyone besides my own holy order members, who'd volunteered for the duty. The demon usually tried to trick me, using my son's voice to plead for just a bit longer to live, using magics to confuse and hobble me. But as strong as the demon would have been face to face, he was limited with a puppet. As for the other trickery, my mundane eyes might have seen my son's face, but in mage-sight, all I could see was a body filled tip to toe with the curse. I would wonder later if I could have reclaimed his mind at least, perhaps gotten the opportunity to say goodbye, and sorry, but I never in the moment tried.
     
    My life's work was to kill ghouls. So every time, I killed him.
  22. B1ue
    As I say, not sure where this is headed, and the beginning may be screwed to all hell. Only thing I know for sure is that all this sounds different happening to someone else.
     
     
    ***Untitled Piece***
    Funny how life works out.
     
    Two months past, I was curled up in his arms, trying everything I could to not think, 'There will not be too many more nights like this.' He was going into the Army within weeks, and within days I had to leave to start college. Because of his grades and my heart, neither of us could follow the other. Every hour we could steal, we spent together. He was the only person I'd ever loved. He was worth the nights without sleep.
     
    I meant it when I said I stole hours. He had a girlfriend too; he'd never lied to me about her, but I don't think she was quite aware of me. I pretended to be visiting his little brother, those times we happened to be there at the same time. I think it was her who spread the talk around that I was actually sleeping with the boy three years younger than us all. It was ridiculous, not least because the younger brother was damn near an exact copy of the older, and why settle for the cheap knock-off when I could go after the real thing? But even my friends weren't sure. The brother's friends believed, and were caught between disgusted and impressed. His parent's believed, and were suddenly as hostile as allowed by their good manners and the relative positions my parents and they occupied in the community.
     
    He believed. That night was the last night. I did not say goodbye or sorry. And two months later, now, I was in a midterm study session with his now ex-girlfriend.
     
    I prayed for her every night. Just don't ask who I prayed to. And now I had to make like I didn't want to choke the bitch with her class notes. "Jeremy!" she exclaimed when she opened the door, "Where have you been all this time?"
     
    "Oh, here and there. Getting to know my roommates." 'Avoiding you like the plague carrier I know you are, and had the infection to prove it.'
     
    Mina smiled. "Well, you shouldn
  23. B1ue

    Dribble Drabble

    By B1ue,

    Had this image in my head for about a week. Needed to excise it.
     
    "Why are you praying?" Fitzpatrick screamed, activating the neural whip in her hands. The bright blue pulse entered her prisoner's skull, arresting the flowing intonation in his throat. But only for a moment. He swallowed, spat, then continued on as if it had been nothing.
     
    "Holy Mary, mother of God..."
     
    They'd been at this for a while. At first, she'd been cheered when it started. Former priests, as this man was, were high on her list of least favorite subjects. It was odd, because the perverted faggots should have been wonderful to experiment on. She should have been able to draw immense satisfaction from working them over, forcing them to realize that God did not exist, that their determination to cling to such illegal modes of thinking was nothing but cowardice, but it was hardly ever the case. Sometimes they broke fast, and could be gold mines on occasion, as the unthinking reactionaries still tended to place their trust and their secrets in their illegal clergymen, but mostly they were just pains in Fitzpatrick's ass. Her initial cheer evaporated when the actual words dutifully recorded by her computer penetrated, and the cadence in which he said them was recognized.
     
    Out of all the gall, the bastard was praying at her. In her indignation, what few scruples she had evaporated.
     
    "God...does...not...exist!" she said, punctuating each word with another pulse from the whip. Fitzpatrick had been exposed to the whip, once, during her training. Every pain receptor in her body seemed to flare at once with the stimulation, her stomach muscles going strangely slack or tight as the pulse flat refused to allow her body to vomit. That one touch haunted her dreams for years, but it gave her a real understanding of the work she did everyday. This priest had been exposed to hundreds of such stimulation in the last hour. She was slightly in awe he could even speak, let alone remember whole prayers. Perhaps he couldn't. He seemed to be saying the same one over and over a lot. "Why do you still call to a figment of your imagination?"
     
    He'd met her eyes, once or twice during the session, but didn't even acknowledge that remark with a frown. He simply carried on.
     
    "Pray for us sinners..."
     
    "Prayer is nothing! It does nothing! Gives you nothing!" she cried. "Are you blind? Are you stupid? How much more proof do you need that God is nothing but a lie? Your kind says miracles happen, but what miracles can come from a being that can do nothing, not even stop your pain?"
     
    "Amen," he said. Then he looked up, meeting her eyes. "But He is. He is doing something. And if you cannot see it, you are the one blind." He turned away, and resumed his pace. "Glory be to the father..."
     
    Fitzpatrick sighed. There was nothing for it. That was the only reaction she'd gotten in a session long enough to drive almost any other person to madness. The only explanation she could see was that he was already crazy, and so they could not trust anything out of his mouth anyways. She hated the waste on her time, but at least she finish up. She stepped back, and with a smooth motion extracted her sidearm.
     
    "...is now, and ever shall be, a world without--."
     
    ***
    Now that's out of the way, how about I say a few offensive things, yes?
     
    I blame the Old Testament for the misunderstandings people have about Christianity. Catholicism in particular, at least as I understand it, but Christianity in a wider sense too. The Old Testament made things too easy for it's adherents. It is easy to have faith when faith alone kept fire from touching you. Shadrach in the charnel, singing of His glory, must have made a terrible impression on the Babylonians. It is equally easy to follow a god who provides a 60' pillar of sand to act as your GPS navigation device. Who will turn rivers into blood in protecting you and yours. Who can, will, and does provide tangible proof when such proof is demanded. I encountered someone who told me that God cannot exist, because if He did, the world would have no problems, since he'd provide miracles enough to keep his followers in the style in which they'd like to be accustomed.
     
    I thought, My God, what a moron.
     
    Christianity isn't like that. Christ performed miracles yes, in front of thousands sometimes, but on the whole, they were quiet ones. Do you really think all 5000 people knew there was only a scattering of bread and fish in that basket? That people who saw the corpse didn't think they might have been mistaken when the soldier's daughter lived? Yes, people said, people testified, but it wasn't like they had EEG devices back then. Even people who witnessed might have been able to doubt the evidence of their eyes. The Bible says they believed, but I'm sure some did not. Many, I'd think.
     
    If Christianity isn't about pillars of flame, it is about more quiet forms of faith. A grown, important man taking them time to speak to children. It's about the head of a saint rolling just so to stare accusingly at his murderer. It is about a woman giving her last coin in the faith that it will make a difference in her life. It is a man, dying, finding it in himself to offer comfort to another. A woman in mourning wiping the sweat and blood from the brow of the condemned.
     
    Instead of a man defying fire, it is a man chained, yet still singing to His glory.
     
    The martyrs are telling, I think. In the Old Testament, the martyrs would have been saved. The bitter cup would have passed their lips. It is a bit grim that we wear crosses to show our faith. It is a reminder of the greatest miracle performed for our sakes, yes, but also the cost that our beliefs sometimes carried, because God would not save us from that fate. Not on this world.
     
    There is a reason St. Peter is the father of Catholicism. Yes, yes, his name signifies that he is the rock upon which the church was built, but any biblical scholar, or even someone who's read a Dan Brown novel, knows the Bible we have wasn't all we had to work with. I feel confident the church patriarchs could have done a bit of editing, should they have felt the need. Paul, from the perspective of someone who thinks in Old Testament terms, would have made a much better example, which is why he did most of the proselytizing. But Peter, ah, Peter was the man who denied. Who, before Thomas, doubted. Who failed himself, when the chips were down and when Christ himself reached out a hand and asked him to step forward. We are told that it was John whom Christ loved best. But it was Peter, that sank beneath the waters, who became the rock.
     
    Faith isn't supposed to be an easy thing. It isn't supposed to be blind. That was the miracle of Saul/Paul, after all. Faith is supposed to be tested, and sometimes found wanting. But it is also supposed to be a light in dark places. It cannot save us from the gallows. But it can touch us, let us walk to our deaths in peace.
  24. B1ue
    I cheated a little this week. Before I go buy a book, I'm supposed to write a short story. I need not publish it, show it to any one, or even keep the file, but I do need to write it. This gives me an extra incentive to write, plus it makes me feel that I've really earned what is pretty much my own indulgence in life (Starbucks not counting, as the coffee served at work should be poured back into the cleanser bottle where it can actually serve a useful purpose).
     
    However, Sarah Rees Brennan, author of The Demon's Lexicon is so incredibly awesome I had no choice in the matter. I needed her book, hardcover or no, story written or not.
     
    How is she awesome? Let me enumerate the reasons:
     
    1. She's a fricking hoot. Absolutely hilarious. Her blog is a scream, especially the parodies. Google "Prince Caspian Parody" and "Sarah," and you will find my gateway drug into her world.
     
    2. Really, "Peter the Magnificent and Prince Caspian the Super Fine" deserves an entry of awesome all it own. A sample:
    PETER: Edmund, I have something to say to you. You
  25. B1ue
    Just checking in.
     
    Truly, this quiz gives some depressing results, considering how warm the colors that I, at least, had to choose from.
     
    ColorQuiz.com
    And the actual results:
    B1ue's Existing Situation
     
    Needs excitement and constant stimulation. Willingly participates in activities that are thrilling and offer adventure.
     
    B1ue's Stress Sources
     
    "Unfulfilled hopes have left him feeling uncertain and even a little fearful about the future. Needs to feel secure and avoid further disappointment; fears he will be looked over, lose his position, or lose respect. Has little hope that things will get better in time and his negative attitude leads him to place impossible demands on others or to compromise or bargain."
     
    B1ue's Restrained Characteristics
     
    Current situations force him into compromise and placing his own hopes and desires on hold for the time being.
     
    Is bothered when his needs and desires are misunderstood and he feels there is no one to turn to or rely on. His self-centered attitude can cause him to be easily offended.
     
    Is satisfied and finds contentment through sexual activity.
     
    Current situations force him into compromise and placing his own hopes and desires on hold for the time being.
     
    B1ue's Desired Objective
     
    "Not a team player and is unwilling to be involved in most activities. In the past he was over involved and now emotionally drained. Due to his fear of over involvement, he now chooses to remain uninvolved with the activities around him. "
     
    B1ue's Actual Problem
     
    "Inability to reach his goals, he is afraid to create or pursue new goals because he fears the rejection and let down they may cause him. He is feeling anxious and escapes by withdrawing into himself and protecting his emotions leaving him moody and depressed."
     
    Thank you for using http://www.ColorQuiz.com/
    Please recommend us to your friends.
     
    At first glance, I thought "Wow. All that from picking grey over maroon the second go?" After reading a few others, I felt less hunted by the results, because I could read myself into any of the sets people have spawned. And looking back over mine, only the section where it says I'd prefer something where I just didn't have to deal with other people the get my job done is spot on to the point of uncanny.The bit about unfulfilled hopes making me gun shy is pretty far off the mark, for example. So I'll just treat these results like my horoscope, and get along with my life.
     
    Though I am somewhat smug that I only had one "Actual Problem," where almost everyone else had two.
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