Fate/Zero Motor Saber! Part Two!
Jul. 13th, 2012 03:20 pmFor those of you I'm linking this to for the first time, part one is here.
I want to begin by giving![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
needled_ink_1975 my most heartfelt and sincere thanks. Thank you! This would not have turned out as amazingly awesome as it did if not for you. I am eternally grateful; your advice immediately led me to another incredible individual in my area who makes very good display cases at cost for collectors.
HERE IT IS!!!! 12x12x8!
My camera didn't want to behave (it is only an iphone, after all) so this is the best I could manage. I haveone more a few more images under the cut, and a (brief) discussion about the base.
( A FEW MORE IMAGES HERE! )
I want to begin by giving
needled_ink_1975 my most heartfelt and sincere thanks. Thank you! This would not have turned out as amazingly awesome as it did if not for you. I am eternally grateful; your advice immediately led me to another incredible individual in my area who makes very good display cases at cost for collectors.
HERE IT IS!!!! 12x12x8!
My camera didn't want to behave (it is only an iphone, after all) so this is the best I could manage. I have
( A FEW MORE IMAGES HERE! )
Fate/Zero Motor Saber!
Jul. 9th, 2012 10:43 amFate/Zero Saber!
Since I don't use this journal for my life, I will at least use it to showcase the things I receive in the mail (mostly toys). I put this up on plurk already, but it's worth repeating here:
キタ━━━(゜∀゜)━━━!!!!! AFTER NINE MONTHS OF WAITING, IT IS FINALLY HERE!!
( Image Heavy )
Since I don't use this journal for my life, I will at least use it to showcase the things I receive in the mail (mostly toys). I put this up on plurk already, but it's worth repeating here:
キタ━━━(゜∀゜)━━━!!!!! AFTER NINE MONTHS OF WAITING, IT IS FINALLY HERE!!
( Image Heavy )
[Tabletop] A Demo Fight in Remnants RPG
Jan. 26th, 2012 09:53 pmRemnants RPG is produced by Outrider Studios in Canada and can be found here: [Outrider Studios]
PREAMBLE:
THOUGHTS:
This time, Tyr was able to use his drones, which I really think turned the battle to his favour. In the last test fight between the two, Tyr lost the initiative, and so his drones deployed too late to save him from the punishing lash of Spoiler's Remnant Cutter. Because a low initiative means you telegraph all your moves to those with higher initiative scores, next time Spoiler loses the Initiative, he'll throw his Reserve into claiming the top spot and repeating the 2-Round take-down his first appearance allowed.
NEXT TIME:
Five normal warriors against a Monstrosity. MONHAN!!!
PREAMBLE:
Tyr Randall, fleeing from his former captors, has the misfortune of running into the Unnamed Spoiler. The Spoiler recognizes the markings on Tyr's freshly stolen Remnant as belonging to an old foe. From this misunderstanding, the fight is met.
Tyr rides Odhinn, a melee oriented Battle Remnant (Mecha), while the Unnamed Spoiler weilds a two-handed Remnant Cutter.
INITIATIVE:
Tyr rolls a 1. With Odhinn's Initiative of 4, he secures a 5.
The Unnamed Spoiler rolls a 4. He does not pilot a Battle Remnant, so by his own power, he achieves a 5 as well.
Since both combatants tied, it goes down to a raw resolution roll.
Tyr gets 3; Spoiler gets 1. Tyr is first.
ROUND 1:
Declaration:
Realizing the disadvantageous position he has begun the combat in, the Unnamed Spoiler uses the rocky terrain to gain a Tactical Advantage to Defence (+1) while calling upon his Monster Hunter power.
Tyr has heard stories of the Unnamed Spoiler during his time in the chain gang and won't take any chances. He calls his out drones, Hugin and Munin, in Assault Mode.
Resolution:
Hugin and Munin emerge.
Spoiler rolls 1d6 + Spirit + Spoiler (5 + 1 + 2 = 8) vs Difficulty 7 to gain Monster Hunter (+2 Defence vs large targets, +1 Attack vs large targets (Tyr/Odhinn), -1 penalty vs medium targets (Hugin and Munin), -2 penalty vs small.
The odds of this fight just got leveled.
ROUND 2:
Declaration:
Imbued with Monster Hunter, the Spoiler will ignore the drones and strike at the main Battle Remnant. He'll leap onto the outcrop he just used as cover, jump to another rock and bound off of it to perform a sailing aerial spinstrike.
Tyr will pull back defensively (All-Out Defense). He doesn't want to find out what that Remnant Cutter can do.
The drones already have their orders -- attack Spoiler.
Resolution:
The Drones attack! They have to contend with the Spoiler's formidable defence of 7, but have a team bonus of +1. They skitter around both sides of the rock to make a two-pronged attack.
Hugin rolls 1d6 + Assault + Modifiers (4 + 1 + 1 = 6) vs Defence 7 for a Miss.
Munin also gets a total of 6 and Misses also!
Tyr braces.
The Spoiler flies through the air to perform his strike! 1d6 + Body + Melee + Modifiers (2 + 1 + 2 + 1 = 6) vs Defence 8 (6 + All-Out-Defence). Doesn't even connect -- lands on another rock.
Tense!
ROUND 3:
Declaration:
The Spoiler will avoid the air and duck back into rock cover (Tactical Advantage: + 1 Defence). Calling forth another power: Cut.
Tyr will take the opportunity to assist his drones. Odhinn will draw out one of the massive quills lining its shoulders, effectively weilding a spear, and strike.
Hugin and Munin continue following orders.
Resolution:
Odhinn and the drones attack. Hugin and Munin have +1 each, while Odhinn gains a +2 for being the third combatant in a Ganging Up! maneuver.
Hugin rolls maximum! (6 + 1 + 1= 8) vs Defence 8. A glancing blow with a Lead of 0!
The total damage inflicted is Lead 0 + Weapon 2 against Spoiler's Resist of 3. Just a little dinged, but no damage done.
Munin gets the same roll... for the same result.
Odhinn is also a 6! (wow!) (6 + 3 + 2 = 11) vs Defence 10. Still a 1 point Lead!
With the Mounted Combat advantage (Battle Remnant vs human, + 1 damage), his yearning for hurting is Lead 1 + Weapon 5 + Modifier 1. OUCH. Spoiler throws his entire Reserve pool of 3 into his Resist to survive the attack and take just 1 Damage.
Spoiler is 4 Health, but at least no penalties. This is good because it lets him succeed on his roll (5 + 1 + 2 = 8) to gain Cut (+1 Attack on X Strikes. X is his Spoiler Skill.)
With no more Reserve left in the legendary Spoiler, things are looking up for Tyr... if he can keep up the pressure.
ROUND 4:
Declaration:
Those drones are dangerous. Not because of their individual bonuses, but because of the numerical advantages they're giving Tyr. Penalties be damned; one must die! Spoiler will use Cut against the one to his left and then deek out fast. At the moment, with the drones so close, Spoiler can only maintain his Tactical Advantage to Defence against Tyr.
Not happening! Tyr likes his advantage. He'll order the endangered drone (let's say Munin) to engage in an All-Out-Defence, while he tries to deal a solid blow to Spoiler.
Munin has new orders, Hugin continues the assault.
Resolution:
Munin withdraws into a defence (+2 Defence). Hugin attacks, no longer gaining that +1.
(5 + 1 = 6) vs Defence 7. Nothing.
Odhinn makes to finish this! Maximum roll! He gains +1 for being the second attacker in a Ganging Up maneuver. His attack (6 + 3 + 1 = 10) just barely lets him throw in that punishing + 5 damage modifier from his spear...
Or it would have if Spoiler didn't abandon his action in favour of an All-Out-Defence. The attack of 10 is thwarted by a Defence of 11.
Close! In hindsight, Odhinn should have used his Reserve. Overconfidence costs.
ROUND 5:
Declarations:
Maintaining his cover against Tyr's Odhinn, Spoiler will swing desperately at Hugin and attempt to bull his way out.
Tyr will switch orders: Hugin defends, Munin attacks. Odhinn will end this battle by throwing in Tyr's full +3 Reserve.
Resolution:
Hugin gains +2 Defence. Munin attacks.
(4 + 1 = 5) vs Defence 7 for nothing.
Odhinn! (3 + 3 + 1 + 3 = 10)! It's enough, or is it...
All-Out-Defence. Spoiler's whooping 11 deflects the attack... and Tyr's Reserve.
There is a tense quiet on the battlefield. The combatants stare one another down...
ROUND 6:
Declarations:
Spoiler gives himself up to fate. If it is his time to be claimed by the Lands, so be it. If this was to be the battle he'd be last remembered for, he'd give the bards something to sing. Hefting his blade up high, he points it straight at Odhinn--only at Odhinn--takes a step back and clasps hand over hand on the grip. When that spear comes, which he knows it will, he'll run up its haft and decapitate this sonofabitch Ishinari's toy.
His determination and daring moves the GM (me), into awarding an Awesome bonus of +1. The Rule of Awesome allows returns 1 point of Reserve, which you know is going to good use.
Tyr recognizes and respects valour. This need not be a fight to the death. Impressed, Tyr salutes--fist over 'heart'--and withdraws the furthest distance allowed to him (Speed 4, so let's say a backwards jog will let him cover 15m with a Motion roll). His drones are ordered to defend him in the withdrawal.
Resolution:
Tyr rolls 1d6 + SA + Motion Skill + Speed (3 + 1 + 1 + 4 = 9) vs Difficulty 8 to move competently through the full 15m through rocky terrain. Hugin and Munin shadow him cautiously, keeping their optics on Spoiler.
Spoiler... has no more action. He is left standing there with no hope of catching Tyr on the withdraw.
The fight is ended. Another day in the Broken Lands... another pair of lives touched by the brutal code that governs all.
THOUGHTS:
This time, Tyr was able to use his drones, which I really think turned the battle to his favour. In the last test fight between the two, Tyr lost the initiative, and so his drones deployed too late to save him from the punishing lash of Spoiler's Remnant Cutter. Because a low initiative means you telegraph all your moves to those with higher initiative scores, next time Spoiler loses the Initiative, he'll throw his Reserve into claiming the top spot and repeating the 2-Round take-down his first appearance allowed.
NEXT TIME:
Five normal warriors against a Monstrosity. MONHAN!!!
By now most gamers have been introduced to the concept of a silent protagonist. In the JRPG genre, a silent protagonist is one that conveys the will of the player but maintains a 'core personality' that emerges in limited dialogue options and linear storytelling. Characters such as Crono (Chrono Trigger), Minato (Persona 3), and McDohl (Suikoden) follow this pattern, deviating very little from their pre-established character bases, and proving that a hero's actions speak louder than his relative silence.
Other games, however, bring forward a different class of protagonist: one whose motivations are wholly designed by the player. This is more common in freeform games such as Fallout and Morrowind, but it is also present (albeit to a lesser degree) in games like Ogre Battle, Etrian Odyssey, and Dragon Age Origins. (Also Darklands, Wizardry, and most old TSR AD&D games.) In this scenario, character creations dares the player to craft his own narrative, giving him a firmer foothold in the game universe than he would normally enter with. The story of the character then merges with the story of the player as it unfurls within the confines of a fictional universe, furthermore eradicating player perception of those limitations by nurturing a self-made narrative that fills in the gaps as it goes along.
Here are my experiences.
While I am certain I began much early, I first noticed the evocative power of this technique in World of Warcraft through my iconic character, Eberict Silverleaf. He was not my first WoW character--that honour goes to Josef Bazalgette, Dwarf Hunter--but he is certainly my most storied creation. Intended as the spiritual successor of my FFXI elvaan prince, Eberict Silverleaf was brewed from a mixture of Sir Francis Dashwood (of the Hellfire Club) and Lord Byron (of popular literature and 19th century sensationalism), becoming the oft-maligned second son of the Great House of Silverleaf. His creative influences made him the perfect marriage of flippancy and passion, a hero by his own reckoning, but an exile from regular society, and it wasn't long until he emulated and reflected the basic tenets of the Byronic Hero:
Since I did not discover this succinct summary of the Byronic model until after I had played Eberict for over a year, I was immediately struck by how suitable he was to the part. A troubled but brilliant man of great passion and temper, Eberict epitomised the Byronic archetype right down to the guilty memory that defined his mental state. Not sexual in nature at all, he was driven by remorse for death of his mother, whom he abandoned in the Third War in order to save his brothers instead. He constantly relives this moment of filial impiety through letters written and addressed to his dead mother, and the poisoning of his soul that this engenders furthers the rift between him and his younger brother, Casel. It also fuels the evil he later does in the name of 'the greater good,' until the cycle of betrayal and need of salvation finally ends in madness. It is only at the end, when world-weariness hangs heaviest upon him, that he gains the lucidity needed to break the chain by accepting his mother's passing, burning the letters, making peace with his brother, and disappearing finally into server myth.
(I am told that people still reference Eberict as some form of ideal. As I've been gone for a year and a half, this cult following surprises me.)
My justifications for Eberict's travels (dungeons and raiding) through Azeroth were myriad. His travels began as an escape from inane Silvermoon society and continued within the predefined purposes of guilds such as There & Back and the Black Omen. Finally, they culminated into a self-interested venture called the Sandfire Trading Company, an organisation of smugglers created to back Eberict's delving for lost, forgotten, and often forbidden knowledge. The investment I had in the character at this point allowed me to pay attention to the world's history, to read quest text furtively and with purpose, and to examine the lore with a scholar's intent--all of which I had failed to do on my dwarf hunter. Instead, as Bazalgette, my attention was focused on which beasts were best tamed, their migration patterns, and the most efficient methods for killing and profiting from their wholesale slaughter. Effectively, by changing characters, I changed my awareness of and involvement with the game.
Perhaps the most noticeable phenomenon, however, in my time as Eberict was that I never needed to reveal his backstory nor discuss the motivations of his character; simply by interacting with him, other players seemed to know how to react with their characters, and it wasn't long before he was highly celebrated and simultaneously reviled by his peers for his unorthodox, often criminal, methods. Other players--human beings, not computer protocols--confirmed the success of my design and, by doing so, convinced me of its merit. Although I ultimately suffered similar ostracism as a player for my portrayal of the misunderstood freedom-obsessed elven scholar and eventually left World of Warcraft to focus more on my work, the character stayed with me to later play the pivotal role in future (single player) experiences.
Left: Tom, Eberict, Demonic Blade, Akiri, Ephraim, & Gazrael face off Elledro.
Centre: Eberict, Gazrael, & Haskil talk round the campfire.
Right: Gazrael & Eberict, a gift from Gazrael's player.
Unlike the shared communal narrative that is World of Warcraft roleplay, creating your own personal story through the medium of single-player gaming is less of an exercise in active roleplay and more of an experiment in passive suspension of disbelief. The first place I took Eberict to outside of Azeroth was the Forest of Etria (or the Labyrinth of Yggdrasill), where the slate was cleared for a more goal-oriented and responsible Eberict to be placed at the head of his guild of like-minded adventurers. Here the turmoil of his Byronic existence is eschewed in favour of putting the focus on his enterprise, the Sandfire Trading Company, a group of hired hands, goons, and archeologists out to learn the secrets of the mysterious Yggdrasill.
Other games, however, bring forward a different class of protagonist: one whose motivations are wholly designed by the player. This is more common in freeform games such as Fallout and Morrowind, but it is also present (albeit to a lesser degree) in games like Ogre Battle, Etrian Odyssey, and Dragon Age Origins. (Also Darklands, Wizardry, and most old TSR AD&D games.) In this scenario, character creations dares the player to craft his own narrative, giving him a firmer foothold in the game universe than he would normally enter with. The story of the character then merges with the story of the player as it unfurls within the confines of a fictional universe, furthermore eradicating player perception of those limitations by nurturing a self-made narrative that fills in the gaps as it goes along.
Here are my experiences.
While I am certain I began much early, I first noticed the evocative power of this technique in World of Warcraft through my iconic character, Eberict Silverleaf. He was not my first WoW character--that honour goes to Josef Bazalgette, Dwarf Hunter--but he is certainly my most storied creation. Intended as the spiritual successor of my FFXI elvaan prince, Eberict Silverleaf was brewed from a mixture of Sir Francis Dashwood (of the Hellfire Club) and Lord Byron (of popular literature and 19th century sensationalism), becoming the oft-maligned second son of the Great House of Silverleaf. His creative influences made him the perfect marriage of flippancy and passion, a hero by his own reckoning, but an exile from regular society, and it wasn't long until he emulated and reflected the basic tenets of the Byronic Hero:
Often the Byronic hero is moody by nature or passionate about a particular issue. He also has emotional and intellectual capacities, which are superior to the average man. These heightened abilities force the Byronic hero to be arrogant, confident, abnormally sensitive, and extremely conscious of himself. Sometimes, this is to the point of nihilism resulting in his rebellion against life itself (Thorslev 197). In one form or another, he rejects the values and moral codes of society and because of this he is often unrepentant by society's standards. Often the Byronic hero is characterized by a guilty memory of some unnamed sexual crime. Due to these characteristics, the Byronic hero is often a figure of repulsion, as well as fascination. [SOURCE]
Since I did not discover this succinct summary of the Byronic model until after I had played Eberict for over a year, I was immediately struck by how suitable he was to the part. A troubled but brilliant man of great passion and temper, Eberict epitomised the Byronic archetype right down to the guilty memory that defined his mental state. Not sexual in nature at all, he was driven by remorse for death of his mother, whom he abandoned in the Third War in order to save his brothers instead. He constantly relives this moment of filial impiety through letters written and addressed to his dead mother, and the poisoning of his soul that this engenders furthers the rift between him and his younger brother, Casel. It also fuels the evil he later does in the name of 'the greater good,' until the cycle of betrayal and need of salvation finally ends in madness. It is only at the end, when world-weariness hangs heaviest upon him, that he gains the lucidity needed to break the chain by accepting his mother's passing, burning the letters, making peace with his brother, and disappearing finally into server myth.
(I am told that people still reference Eberict as some form of ideal. As I've been gone for a year and a half, this cult following surprises me.)
My justifications for Eberict's travels (dungeons and raiding) through Azeroth were myriad. His travels began as an escape from inane Silvermoon society and continued within the predefined purposes of guilds such as There & Back and the Black Omen. Finally, they culminated into a self-interested venture called the Sandfire Trading Company, an organisation of smugglers created to back Eberict's delving for lost, forgotten, and often forbidden knowledge. The investment I had in the character at this point allowed me to pay attention to the world's history, to read quest text furtively and with purpose, and to examine the lore with a scholar's intent--all of which I had failed to do on my dwarf hunter. Instead, as Bazalgette, my attention was focused on which beasts were best tamed, their migration patterns, and the most efficient methods for killing and profiting from their wholesale slaughter. Effectively, by changing characters, I changed my awareness of and involvement with the game.
Perhaps the most noticeable phenomenon, however, in my time as Eberict was that I never needed to reveal his backstory nor discuss the motivations of his character; simply by interacting with him, other players seemed to know how to react with their characters, and it wasn't long before he was highly celebrated and simultaneously reviled by his peers for his unorthodox, often criminal, methods. Other players--human beings, not computer protocols--confirmed the success of my design and, by doing so, convinced me of its merit. Although I ultimately suffered similar ostracism as a player for my portrayal of the misunderstood freedom-obsessed elven scholar and eventually left World of Warcraft to focus more on my work, the character stayed with me to later play the pivotal role in future (single player) experiences.
Left: Tom, Eberict, Demonic Blade, Akiri, Ephraim, & Gazrael face off Elledro.
Centre: Eberict, Gazrael, & Haskil talk round the campfire.
Right: Gazrael & Eberict, a gift from Gazrael's player.
Unlike the shared communal narrative that is World of Warcraft roleplay, creating your own personal story through the medium of single-player gaming is less of an exercise in active roleplay and more of an experiment in passive suspension of disbelief. The first place I took Eberict to outside of Azeroth was the Forest of Etria (or the Labyrinth of Yggdrasill), where the slate was cleared for a more goal-oriented and responsible Eberict to be placed at the head of his guild of like-minded adventurers. Here the turmoil of his Byronic existence is eschewed in favour of putting the focus on his enterprise, the Sandfire Trading Company, a group of hired hands, goons, and archeologists out to learn the secrets of the mysterious Yggdrasill.
I thought about writing today.
Aug. 29th, 2010 09:30 pmThe result was immediate indigestion and malingering nausea. No, this was no ambitious thought or mind toward my more lofty of projects—the endless worlds and journal after journal of unpublished world notes and character drabbles—nor was it guilt felt in the direction of my many, many unanswered tags. What crossed my mind during the subsequent bathroom run and gargle was nothing to do with fiction and everything to do with essay-craft.
The art of the essay is one typically discovered in the academic fields of mainstream study. The very many liberal arts departments of the world house schools of essayists, albeit those in their undergraduate infancy, who discuss, through writ, the beleaguered economics of Mary Queen of Scots, the nature of the human soul as presented by Aristotle, and the finer foibles of ever-stagnating bipartisan American politics. There are rules governing the format and allowable content of an essay, typically defined and then redefined by professors possessing of their own unique preferences in font-face and margin depth. Single or double spaced, each essay begins with an introduction, ends in a conclusion, and consists of a multi-part body covered in PEE. (Point. Example. Explanation.) This is the sort of essay I grade daily, though is not the type of essay I wish to be writing.
In truth, calling what I intend ‘essaying’ is perhaps a misnomer. Calling my intention ‘article-writing’ or ‘journalling’ would be more honest, but I have lost some measure of faith in both of those mediums. Article writing denotes a purpose, which I certainly do not have, and journalling has been redefined as writing pithy 150 character statements on Twitter about what colour underwear you’re wearing today, and what day of the week you intend to change said pair. Anything longer is ignored, pushed to the wayside, and forgotten in a mess of drivel. This is where I would like to say something about lacking the dedicated readership to provide the gratification and desired discussion inherent to writing a dedicated ‘journal article,’ but instead I’ll point out that the worst way to endear yourself to a readership is by calling their community contributions ‘drivel.’ You also don’t engender yourself by remarking, after, that you don’t put much faith in them ever fully grasping the self-denigrated humour built in to such an admission. Saying any of those things out loud are grounds for a re-evaluation of purpose, which I am currently experiencing…
So what do I want to talk about? I want to talk about three weeks spent wanting ‘more’ from my overall internet experience. I want to mention that it is dishonest of me to say that I have been too busy to attend to online obligations because that is only half the truth. The whole truth is that I have wasted what little time off I have seeking to discover something of greater value than I’ve been able to find online in a long time, and that the reason for this inability is not because the contributions of other people online are lacking, but rather that my own contributions online have been lacking. Lacklustre, to be precise. I have created nothing of worth on the internet for years. I have not participated in any grand scheme of writing, have not coded any website, have not created any community with which to draw together like minded people of good fiction and interest. Instead, I have been drifting, and drifting has made me discontent. Discontent, in turn, has made me slow, irresponsible, and unhappy.
I want to make something. I’m afraid of making anything. I’m afraid that anything I make will reflect on me and show the hidden pathways I keep hidden for a reason. I’m afraid to admit that I want to live, and that since I can not live, I want to write. I’m afraid of realising that I am not writing because writing will remind me of everything I could be doing. Yet, in the end, if I am honest with myself, I will remember that that was precisely the reason I started writing in the first place.
You write what you know. You detail it until the fantasy is so riddled with truths that it becomes real. Most people in my position, I know, have said that they know nothing enough to write about in so vivid a manner, but they are wrong. We—I—know far too much about solitude, far too much about longing, and far too much about being the Other. We’re just too afraid of the truth to watch it escape from our pens, to see it stain the page with so much black and white and red.
Red like rain giving the page life.
The art of the essay is one typically discovered in the academic fields of mainstream study. The very many liberal arts departments of the world house schools of essayists, albeit those in their undergraduate infancy, who discuss, through writ, the beleaguered economics of Mary Queen of Scots, the nature of the human soul as presented by Aristotle, and the finer foibles of ever-stagnating bipartisan American politics. There are rules governing the format and allowable content of an essay, typically defined and then redefined by professors possessing of their own unique preferences in font-face and margin depth. Single or double spaced, each essay begins with an introduction, ends in a conclusion, and consists of a multi-part body covered in PEE. (Point. Example. Explanation.) This is the sort of essay I grade daily, though is not the type of essay I wish to be writing.
In truth, calling what I intend ‘essaying’ is perhaps a misnomer. Calling my intention ‘article-writing’ or ‘journalling’ would be more honest, but I have lost some measure of faith in both of those mediums. Article writing denotes a purpose, which I certainly do not have, and journalling has been redefined as writing pithy 150 character statements on Twitter about what colour underwear you’re wearing today, and what day of the week you intend to change said pair. Anything longer is ignored, pushed to the wayside, and forgotten in a mess of drivel. This is where I would like to say something about lacking the dedicated readership to provide the gratification and desired discussion inherent to writing a dedicated ‘journal article,’ but instead I’ll point out that the worst way to endear yourself to a readership is by calling their community contributions ‘drivel.’ You also don’t engender yourself by remarking, after, that you don’t put much faith in them ever fully grasping the self-denigrated humour built in to such an admission. Saying any of those things out loud are grounds for a re-evaluation of purpose, which I am currently experiencing…
So what do I want to talk about? I want to talk about three weeks spent wanting ‘more’ from my overall internet experience. I want to mention that it is dishonest of me to say that I have been too busy to attend to online obligations because that is only half the truth. The whole truth is that I have wasted what little time off I have seeking to discover something of greater value than I’ve been able to find online in a long time, and that the reason for this inability is not because the contributions of other people online are lacking, but rather that my own contributions online have been lacking. Lacklustre, to be precise. I have created nothing of worth on the internet for years. I have not participated in any grand scheme of writing, have not coded any website, have not created any community with which to draw together like minded people of good fiction and interest. Instead, I have been drifting, and drifting has made me discontent. Discontent, in turn, has made me slow, irresponsible, and unhappy.
I want to make something. I’m afraid of making anything. I’m afraid that anything I make will reflect on me and show the hidden pathways I keep hidden for a reason. I’m afraid to admit that I want to live, and that since I can not live, I want to write. I’m afraid of realising that I am not writing because writing will remind me of everything I could be doing. Yet, in the end, if I am honest with myself, I will remember that that was precisely the reason I started writing in the first place.
You write what you know. You detail it until the fantasy is so riddled with truths that it becomes real. Most people in my position, I know, have said that they know nothing enough to write about in so vivid a manner, but they are wrong. We—I—know far too much about solitude, far too much about longing, and far too much about being the Other. We’re just too afraid of the truth to watch it escape from our pens, to see it stain the page with so much black and white and red.
Red like rain giving the page life.
When the rain would not fall, the village brought a bull to be slaughtered by the altar. When the herd was lean, the village took bushels of wheat to be burned as offering. We were always short of milk and bread, always short of beer and meat, but we all praised the gods for their clemency as we thinned and starved. Such was tradition, and I thought nothing of it. As I grew to be surrounded by the bones of my family, however, it made me understand that not all traditions were meant to be followed.
And that is why I had to die; it was not an idea that could be allowed to live.
And suddenly I'm a teacher again
May. 4th, 2010 10:01 pmI've been tired lately, much too tired to have made any sort of meaningful recording over the last couple of weeks. It's the sort of fatigue that creeps up on you, that's difficult to notice until it's the end of the day and you come back from the classroom full of plans and ideas, only to collapse uselessly for hours on the bed or in the chair. Like a viper it strikes, sapping away at you until you've only got the energy to, just barely, put up your boisterous performance for the kids. Hardly enough to do all those other projects. It's the sort of fatigue that comes from being squeezed dry while waiting for a day off that never comes.
So you steal your moments, and you adapt. That's what I'm trying to do now after having spent so long in Singapore.
( But now I'm back in the Philippines, so it's workworkwork! )
And that's why I haven't been too active on the internet the last week. Have a video about teaching.
So you steal your moments, and you adapt. That's what I'm trying to do now after having spent so long in Singapore.
( But now I'm back in the Philippines, so it's workworkwork! )
And that's why I haven't been too active on the internet the last week. Have a video about teaching.
Our tires got slashed so...
Apr. 19th, 2010 08:22 pmMost of my day was spent waiting for the car to be repaired. Zzz.
The rest was spent staring dangerously off into space with nary a productive thought in mind; a weighty indication that I really ought to go and take this learning disability of mine seriously before it impacts my career. To summarise a long story, I was diagnosed a long time ago with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), but have never taken medication for it. I was afraid of the idea of medicating and altering the chemicals in my brain, and so I deliberately missed that appointment, and all subsequent appointments thereafter. Instead of professional treatment, I found my own insane rituals to deal with the issue, and have now run into a brick wall as a result.
( Here I talk about how I'm insane. )
My sister and I took some photos of our figurines out in the compound. We found a copse of bamboo behind the brick sign of our apartment complex, and had an adventure. Those photos aren't yet formatted, but do expect a photo blog in my next instalment.
Going back to Manila on Saturday. This means I get to try the new Dwarf Fortress and the Dragon Age: Awakenings expansion. It also means I'll get to redeem my six free days of World of Warcraft... but the verdict is still out on whether or not I really want to do that. Manila will be a bittersweet experience for me, I'm certain. My seniors are graduating, my sophomores are advancing, and I'll be packing my belongings in anticipation of my own inevitable farewell. It's in keeping with how my life has been to this point: I leave just when I find so many like-minded and amazing people in what was, for years before, a lonely and isolated stay.
Two trips to Japan before I say goodbye, but those are thoughts for another day.
The rest was spent staring dangerously off into space with nary a productive thought in mind; a weighty indication that I really ought to go and take this learning disability of mine seriously before it impacts my career. To summarise a long story, I was diagnosed a long time ago with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), but have never taken medication for it. I was afraid of the idea of medicating and altering the chemicals in my brain, and so I deliberately missed that appointment, and all subsequent appointments thereafter. Instead of professional treatment, I found my own insane rituals to deal with the issue, and have now run into a brick wall as a result.
( Here I talk about how I'm insane. )
My sister and I took some photos of our figurines out in the compound. We found a copse of bamboo behind the brick sign of our apartment complex, and had an adventure. Those photos aren't yet formatted, but do expect a photo blog in my next instalment.
Going back to Manila on Saturday. This means I get to try the new Dwarf Fortress and the Dragon Age: Awakenings expansion. It also means I'll get to redeem my six free days of World of Warcraft... but the verdict is still out on whether or not I really want to do that. Manila will be a bittersweet experience for me, I'm certain. My seniors are graduating, my sophomores are advancing, and I'll be packing my belongings in anticipation of my own inevitable farewell. It's in keeping with how my life has been to this point: I leave just when I find so many like-minded and amazing people in what was, for years before, a lonely and isolated stay.
Two trips to Japan before I say goodbye, but those are thoughts for another day.
Here's a quick one because it's so amazingly mind bending.
My uncle was the target of an assassination. He was shot at twice, though only one bullet hit: leg, nothing vital. Quick medical work fixed that, and all he feels now is discomfort. The real inconvenience is that now my paternal aunt (beloved Uncle Marge) and her family have to completely uproot and relocate out of the city. At present, they're in a safe house with a massive security detail following them around everywhere. All of this because my uncle was involved in the completely disgraceful Philippine elections. (His friend is one of the vice presidential candidates.) He was coming home from a game of golf, and was actually very near my house when the assassin struck. NEAR. MY. FUCKING. HOUSE.
This wouldn't be the only assassination attempt this year either. I've heard of one casualty already associated with the proceedings, and I don't doubt that there are a couple more in the accounting. Add that to the 5,000 smuggled in signal jammers and the grotesque sums of money being spent by the candidates, and you can see the whole sordid picture for what it really is.
My mom is freaking out. She's insisting that my dad call up my aunt to tell her to 'stay the hell away from me.' She's convinced that I'll become a legitimate target if I associate with her, but that's really unlikely. According to most people in the Philippines, I don't even have a 'real job' as a teacher, so what political threat is a white boy like me going to be, eh? That's parents for you, though.
Operation GTFO just hit overdrive, though. Japan or Singapore, 2011, here we go. Already not looking forward to being back in Manila before elections on May 10th. Going to hermit the shit out of my room when I do; students can come to me. They have bodyguards; I don't.
Here's the newspaper article.
My uncle was the target of an assassination. He was shot at twice, though only one bullet hit: leg, nothing vital. Quick medical work fixed that, and all he feels now is discomfort. The real inconvenience is that now my paternal aunt (beloved Uncle Marge) and her family have to completely uproot and relocate out of the city. At present, they're in a safe house with a massive security detail following them around everywhere. All of this because my uncle was involved in the completely disgraceful Philippine elections. (His friend is one of the vice presidential candidates.) He was coming home from a game of golf, and was actually very near my house when the assassin struck. NEAR. MY. FUCKING. HOUSE.
This wouldn't be the only assassination attempt this year either. I've heard of one casualty already associated with the proceedings, and I don't doubt that there are a couple more in the accounting. Add that to the 5,000 smuggled in signal jammers and the grotesque sums of money being spent by the candidates, and you can see the whole sordid picture for what it really is.
My mom is freaking out. She's insisting that my dad call up my aunt to tell her to 'stay the hell away from me.' She's convinced that I'll become a legitimate target if I associate with her, but that's really unlikely. According to most people in the Philippines, I don't even have a 'real job' as a teacher, so what political threat is a white boy like me going to be, eh? That's parents for you, though.
Operation GTFO just hit overdrive, though. Japan or Singapore, 2011, here we go. Already not looking forward to being back in Manila before elections on May 10th. Going to hermit the shit out of my room when I do; students can come to me. They have bodyguards; I don't.
Here's the newspaper article.
Dog Days in Singapore
Apr. 13th, 2010 07:57 pmThe basis of shame is not some personal mistake of ours, but the ignominy, the humiliation we feel that we must be what we are without any choice in the matter, and that this humiliation is seen by everyone.
That was recited at the end of an episode of Criminal Minds I watched last night. I've been watching a lot of television lately ever since this trip turned into one of waiting. Waiting for my Cambridge interview. Waiting for my parents to come back from their trip to KL. Waiting for my sister to come home from school every day so it becomes something more than just glorified dog-sitting.
Most of my time is spent with the dog. Maximus is a pedigree Rottweiler puppy, eight months old, and already the size of the fully-grown golden retriever that came before him. He's not done growing up either; at full adulthood, Max should be 55kg (or a whooping 120lbs or so), which I know is more than a few of you reading this.
Max is also my reluctant walking buddy. It's taken some practice and determination, but we've actually made it to the nearby reservoir. (2500 steps away according to my Pokewalker.) Beyond that distance, he pulls me to the nearest covered shelter and promptly plops down on the ground, panting hard. After that we walk back. I'm not sure what keeps him from going so far, but I'm hoping we'll eventually get to the several kilometre distances Gorbash III (golden retriever) and I managed long ago.
On the topic of dogs, I have some pictures from when we brought the dogs to a flea bath last week.
( To the Groomers! )
That's all I have for that dog adventure. That day ended with me itchy and full of rashes. The joy of being an allergic dog owner.
That was recited at the end of an episode of Criminal Minds I watched last night. I've been watching a lot of television lately ever since this trip turned into one of waiting. Waiting for my Cambridge interview. Waiting for my parents to come back from their trip to KL. Waiting for my sister to come home from school every day so it becomes something more than just glorified dog-sitting.
Most of my time is spent with the dog. Maximus is a pedigree Rottweiler puppy, eight months old, and already the size of the fully-grown golden retriever that came before him. He's not done growing up either; at full adulthood, Max should be 55kg (or a whooping 120lbs or so), which I know is more than a few of you reading this.
Max is also my reluctant walking buddy. It's taken some practice and determination, but we've actually made it to the nearby reservoir. (2500 steps away according to my Pokewalker.) Beyond that distance, he pulls me to the nearest covered shelter and promptly plops down on the ground, panting hard. After that we walk back. I'm not sure what keeps him from going so far, but I'm hoping we'll eventually get to the several kilometre distances Gorbash III (golden retriever) and I managed long ago.
On the topic of dogs, I have some pictures from when we brought the dogs to a flea bath last week.
( To the Groomers! )
That's all I have for that dog adventure. That day ended with me itchy and full of rashes. The joy of being an allergic dog owner.
Tales from Outer Suburbia
Apr. 11th, 2010 12:09 amMy first and purest love is the turning of a page. The epitome of romance is the enjambment, the straddling of sentences, found at the end of each page. Each page is a verse, and whether known or new, there is an anticipation, a longing, in that brief pause between them. I discovered the book when I was four, and it is a love affair that has never died.
Today’s adventure began with a full rack of ribs, and continued in a trip to historic Ann Siang Hill, nestled and hidden within the one-way street labyrinth of Chinatown, Singapore. Once a centre for secret societies, Ann Siang is now a restored row of old shophouses frequented primarily by vintage adventurers and graphic designers. Though not as amazing as the antique boutiques and memorabilia shops in downtown Toronto, it has a certain quaint charm that I definitely enjoyed.
More than just talk about it, though, let me show you.
( A short photo adventure awaits! )
So, today was a grand ol' adventure into parts of town I've never been before. It was a lot of fun, and was really like falling in love all over again. Tomorrow, my sister and I might try get our start for the MFC photo contest, but we'll see how notoriously lazy we feel in the morning.
Today’s adventure began with a full rack of ribs, and continued in a trip to historic Ann Siang Hill, nestled and hidden within the one-way street labyrinth of Chinatown, Singapore. Once a centre for secret societies, Ann Siang is now a restored row of old shophouses frequented primarily by vintage adventurers and graphic designers. Though not as amazing as the antique boutiques and memorabilia shops in downtown Toronto, it has a certain quaint charm that I definitely enjoyed.
More than just talk about it, though, let me show you.
( A short photo adventure awaits! )
So, today was a grand ol' adventure into parts of town I've never been before. It was a lot of fun, and was really like falling in love all over again. Tomorrow, my sister and I might try get our start for the MFC photo contest, but we'll see how notoriously lazy we feel in the morning.