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Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Fandom - Star Wars

Fandom - Star Wars

Listen. I get it. Maybe Star Wars wasn't for you, certainly the prequel movies weren't that great, you never understood the fandom, you never bothered with the comics or the books, the toys it all seems so surreal.

But now that we, the geeks, the nerds, the star wars fans, the 501st, have something to be really proud of? Don't ruin that for us. We aren't in high school anymore, there's no cred that you need to appeal to hold on to. Don't ridicule people for loving what they love. And certainly don't ridicule them when all they want to do is share their enthusiasm for it with you. If it still isn't for you? Sure, fine, fair. But if you want to rag on it because it's popular finally?

That makes you a jerk.

Monday, December 28, 2015

Life - Racism, Hard Truth

Life - Racism, Hard Truth

Listen, if you ever say that you don't believe racism still exists, then I have a hard truth for you. You occupy a space in the world then that doesn't have to deal with, see, or otherwise have contact with racism. You live a life of privilege. You are also quite possibly without empathy, or also very, very stupid. You might be both.

Racism is less today about slurs and negative epitaphs, although those still exist as well. Racism is about how a group of people are finding ways to justify why it was appropriate to shoot a 12 year old black boy.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Life - Exercise

Life - Exercise

Aaron Bleyaert wrote this most excellent guide to how to lose weight, in 4 steps.

I might argue that they're not that easy. But well, semantics.


Thursday, December 10, 2015

Musings - Difference

Musings - Difference

The idea that we kill each other over a difference of opinion about what happens after people die is both ironic and sad.

Friday, December 4, 2015

Life - Lachesism

Life - Lachesism

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

For a million years we’ve watched the sky
and huddled in fear.
But somehow you still find yourself
quietly rooting for the storm.

As if a part of you is tired of waiting,
wondering when the world will fall apart
—by lot, by fate, by the will of the gods—
almost daring them to grant your wish.

But really you can wish all you want,
because life is a game of chance.
And each passing day
is another flip of the coin.

Who could blame us for wanting to be there when it lands?

Monday, November 30, 2015

Thoughts - Theft and Thievery

Thoughts - Theft and Thievery

Someone I had introduced to D&D a while back is planning on running their own game. I'm pretty ecstatic about that. I really enjoy introducing people to my favourite passtime and watching them grow, learn and tell their own stories. Often when introducing players, I have a digital copy of the player's hand book that I let them have in the beginning, because a 40 dollar buy into the game if you're not sure you will like it at all is difficult. I mean, people borrow and pass around the books all the time, but it's nice to just have a record of the book for yourself so you can peruse it and check. I often tell people though that I'm effectively just loaning them the book, don't share it further, and if you don't intend to play, you should delete it.

I've recently become aware that this person I've given that digital to, is running their session with their own players, and is printing from that digital copy for their players.

The newest edition is not open source, it's not free for distribution (I mean I really shouldn't even have that digital copy per se), and they certainly don't have any kind of printing licence for it.

So they're stealing it.

They're stealing the book, and distributing it. It's my favourite game and they're pirating it.

For a while I felt guilty, it was my fault, it is my fault. I shouldn't have distributed the digital to anyone I didn't think wouldn't fall in love with the game and purchase a hardcopy. (All of my players end up purchasing their own hardcopies of the books). I should not have trusted this player to have the same scruples that I do about piracy. I should have gauged better.

But they are also adults.

I'm trying to figure out if I'm responsible. They made the choice to do something that I think is wrong. I also coloured the lens for my own mental situation about what I think is right and wrong, to me I'm essentially lending the book out, but that's also not quite fair is it.

Where do we draw the line?

I've been thinking a lot about piracy and stealing for the past few years, especially as I've become a content creator and an artist. Often, when people directly contact me about using my work (especially writing, but sometimes art) I'm only too happy to volunteer it to be used for specific projects. I LOVE being asked. But I HATE when people just take.

Personally I've been involved in 5 lawsuits so far with my work. (Some aren't actually lawsuits, some are just notices of infringement)

Every time a new one comes up, it's time that it takes me away from making new art, or new content. It occupies headspace that is better used being creative. In short, it sucks.

So what do I do?

Am I responsible for this budding DM who has taken content and is now pirating it for their players? What does one even say? But I don't want to be silent about it, because for so many strangers, I'm very vocal about my opinion on it. Does personal contact mean people get a free pass? That doesn't seem right either.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Thoughts - Statistical Death

Thoughts - Statistical Death

I'm deeply uncomfortable with comparison discussions about tragedy and death. I'm uncomfortable because a person compares a tragedy in Kenya of 142 dead and implies that it is more tragic than a death of 129 in Paris. I'm uncomfortable because the discussion becomes a statistic then. Lives become numbers, names are no longer victims, but the tallies of bodies on a sheet. I'm uncomfortable because I don't want to have a discussion on the state of the world with people whom I have either no respect for, or have no interest in impressing.

The debate is cyclical in nature, and no one is listening. But those people are dead, and all anyone seems to care about are the numbers.

Not the names.


Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Dreams - Nihilism

Dreams - Nihilism

Just woke from one of the most Nihilistic dreams I've ever had. Lay in bed for an hour, sightlessly staring at the ceiling wondering what it all means.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

Politics - Voting Day, Follow up

Politics - Voting Day, Follow Up

I received this email today in response, a few weeks after the discrepancy I had in voting during the election. I wish it were more conclusive, or even more investigative instead of just a citation of a clause in the Act.

Nevertheless, well there it is.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Game Design - Waiting

Game Design - Waiting

Things they don't tell you in game design school. That some days, you might lose 4 hours just to updating your toolsets and equipment. That your life might become watching the progression of a progress bar in its slow march towards completion, just so that your ideas might be better optimized and realized.

Our world is strange and weird.

Friday, October 23, 2015

Drabbles - Lives

Drabbles - Lives

Sometimes people ask me how many lives I've lived.

I just smirk and ask them how many they have.

But on the inside, I fall to my knees.

And cry.

Monday, October 19, 2015

Politics - Voting Day

Politics - Voting Day

I have returned from voting. I have no selfie picture to show you, instead: I received my ballot and went behind the screen, then took a moment to observe it, and realized that it had been marked already. Concerned I took the ballot back to my polling volunteer and showed him. He immediately agreed and provided me a new ballot, destroying the old one. I took that one behind the screen and again observed the same markings. Both ballots had been marked under the Conservative candidate's name, Alice Wong.

I was suspicious and returned, a number of us checked through the unmarked ballots and discovered that every ballot in their small book (Perhaps a dozen ballots) had been similarly marked. His partner noted that the markings were not exactly in the bubble, and thusly should not count.

I said to him then: "Let us not be lazy in the defence of democracy. The books cost nothing. Get another one, and there will be no confusion."

They produced a new book of ballots, I received an unmarked one, and exercised my civic duty.

It's raining in Richmond right now, but I feel good.

Get out there and vote friends. And be vigilant. Don't let your voice be taken from you.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Politics - Budget

Politics - Budget

Let's talk about the budget. So there's been a lot of people, myself included talking at length about how the Conservative government is running deficits and running up public debt. In the face of that, the common rebuttal is "But he's running a balanced budget projection for 2015!"

So let's look closely at that, because it deserves attention.

Friday, October 9, 2015

Politics - Statistics

Politics - Statistics

Yesterday I wrote a lengthy blog article that was closely researched for the purposes of discussion and dissecting the current Canadian government (namely the Harper government). Stats 24 hours later:

There have been 243 unique visitors to the article.
46% of which are Canadian
22% of which are German
17% of which are American
The remaining percentage are from a combination of France, the UK, Russia, Portugal, Brazil, China, New Zealand, South Africa, Bulgaria and Argentina.

The average visit length is 2:45. The shortest is just under 1 minute (which I think is probably too short to fully read the article), the longest is just over 8:00.

15% of readers bounce down to the prior article, a piece of writing.

73% of visitors come from some sort of facebook redirection or linkage.
26% of visitors come from twitter
1% of visitors (2 people) came from somewhere else, most likely a bookmark.

The article has been shared 6 times on Facebook.
Retweeted once on twitter.

There have been no comments on the blog itself.

About two dozen comments on facebook. (None on my own original posting, only a few likes. Comments are on subsequent shares.)

No comments on twitter.

Interesting.


Thursday, October 8, 2015

Politics - Reasons

Politics - Reasons

So about two weeks ago or so now, my father and I had a pretty angry discussion about who to vote for in the upcoming election. In general, I have been somewhat dis associative of the election, I have a fairly clear view personally of who I am voting for and ultimately as long as people vote, I've been taking the viewpoint that people can make their own informed choices and don't need me airing negativity one way or the other.

That changed about a week ago, at least personally, because of the Conservative campaign of racism against the Middle East, the Niqab debate (which is ridiculous), and the ongoing campaign of attacking, rather than of valuing. There's a weird moment because you look on social media, you look on facebook, you look all over and Conservative supporters seem to be few and far between. But they have a majority right now. And they're projected to possibly win again. So who is voting for them? And why?

And then I had that debate with my father, and everything became clear. My father doesn't actually care that much who is in power. He cares in so far that he isn't taxed more. He cares in so far that he isn't paying for excessive public services. He believes in less government intervention where possible, and the Conservatives have positioned themselves in their propaganda as that...even though research has proven otherwise.

So here, I am compiling a list. These are the reasons to not vote Conservative, because it's not about name calling, but here are the fiscal reasons that you shouldn't vote Conservative. With appropriate citation.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Thoughts - Neon City

Thoughts - Neon City

I like exploring places I shouldn't go. In the neon glow of Richmond and accompanied by the sounds of falling rain on concrete, I climb up steel barricades and hop down the other side. Wandering the darkness of iron and sleek chrome cars that pass me by unerring on their journey to meaningless destinations.

Usually I have music, but tonight the silence is company well enough. She's the best kind, the kind that doesn't ask me if I'm alright, or if I feel okay. She stays true her namesake, and dances around me, mirthless. Save the wind, the rain, and far away some other voices in another language.

I think that the nighttime glow of Richmond reminds me of the Ninsei City. Of Chrome and grime, the smells of humans and the feeling of dying dreams. I think it reminds me of a time and a place I'll never see, but long for as though it were home.

Monday, October 5, 2015

Memory - Was

I was in love with you. We were children once beneath a forlorn sky, separated by distance we didn't understand. It was a long time ago. Dreamers set to rewrite the world... When did we ever grow up?

I was in love with you. Once. A long time ago. The stories we told each other and the tales we wove... It seems so far off.

You are getting married, and I wish you every joy and happiness. I wish I could be there for you that day in the ways I always and never were. I gift you a star, a silence, and all in my power to give you. Save that one thing.

I was in love with you once.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Humans of New York - Refugees (Greece)

Humans of New York - Refugees (Greece)

“My husband and I sold everything we had to afford the journey. We worked 15 hours a day in Turkey until we had enough money to leave. The smuggler put 152 of us on a boat. Once we saw the boat, many of us wanted to go back, but he told us that anyone who turned back would not get a refund. We had no choice. Both the lower compartment and the deck were filled with people. Waves began to come into the boat so the captain told everyone to throw their baggage into the sea. In the ocean we hit a rock, but the captain told us not to worry. Water began to come into the boat, but again he told us not to worry. We were in the lower compartment and it began to fill with water. It was too tight to move. Everyone began to scream. We were the last ones to get out alive. My husband pulled me out of the window. In the ocean, he took off his life jacket and gave it to a woman. We swam for as long as possible. After several hours he told me he that he was too tired to swim and that he was going to float on his back and rest. It was so dark we could not see. The waves were high. I could hear him calling me but he got further and further away. Eventually a boat found me. They never found my husband.” (Kos, Greece)

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Poetry - He/She

Poetry - He/She

Poetry in a Diamente Format. It was a writing challenge this week.

I might do more later



She
Tall, pretty
Reading, Dreaming, Thinking
Her gaze unblinking on his, his lips to hers
Smiling, Singing, Dying
Confident, detached
He

Friday, August 7, 2015

Humans of New York - Care

Humans of New York - Care

“Shortly after we were married, I got tuberculosis and rashes broke out all over my body. They smelled so bad that I had to be cleaned three times a day. She always made me fresh food and made sure I had clean clothes every time I bathed. One morning, during this time, she asked me: ‘Would you do the same if I got sick?’ I promised her: ‘I’ll do even more.’ She died a few years ago from a brain tumor. She was in bed for the last three years of her life. Toward the end, she couldn’t identify people. Water from her brain would drain from her eyes. I ran home from the shop three times a day to help her go to the bathroom. I was always sure to turn her. She never had a single bedsore. In the end, the doctor told me: ‘It would not have been possible to take better care of her.’”

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Writing Circle - Character Sketches

Writing Circle - Character Sketches

The challenge: Write character sketches, the challenge, do it without describing their appearance, sketch them only through action.

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Endless Horizons: Flatline - Space Oreos

Endless Horizons: Flatline - Space Oreos

A desk of components, a still smoldering soldering iron, circuits and wires everywhere. He closed his eyes and code flew past the holo-projections along the walls, he opened them and knew which parts of the telemetry were messed up. Sensors adorned the workstation at various heights, scanning perpetually for changes in temperature, electrical charge and chemical imbalances, impossibly quickly they routed directly into his mind to tell him what and where needed more attention.

There was a soft knock at his cabin door.

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Life - Attention Must Be Paid

Life - Attention Must Be Paid

Wes and I were walking before dinner tonight. We beheld a strange situation. On a busy sidewalk with many people, a young man, shirtless and sardonic did something to a woman pushing a stroller. She was distracted, phone braced against her shoulder and clearly distracted, he darted down and did something with either the child in the stroller or in the basket beneath the seat and then straightened immediately. He ran, a smirk on his face towards us and almost past.

It couldn't have been more than a few seconds.

Something compelled me, or maybe it was just a reflex. Or maybe it was something internal, indescribeable.

My leg lanced out, catching him right in the leg. He stumbles, almost falls, trips sideways and goes down. He's up very quickly, he glares.

I turn. I look him square, and set my shoulders. I'm ready to brawl.

I think he realizes then that we saw. That we paid attention. That we knew, even though we were not sure what exactly had happened. I marked him, saw his face, and most importantly, attention was paid. There is a tense moment, I can almost feel Wes over my shoulder not sure what to do, but I don't look away.

I am ready, for whatever this young man decides he is going to do.

He backs up, he runs. His smirk is gone.

We catch up with the woman with the stroller, ask her if everything is alright. She seems a little shaken but otherwise fine. She didn't know the man either. Another elderly man comes along and asks us what happened. We try to piece it all together. We think he must have either tried to steal her purse down under the stroller, or maybe he thought it would be funny to put a cigarette down there or something, but we find nothing, and she still has her purse.

Ultimately we separate on the street, unable to resolve it, and the young man long gone, run off down and away.

I think about that moment while Wes and I continue to walk. It's important then I realize. Attention must be paid. It's not the nature of the quote that Arthur Miller coined, but when we see injustice, or question the veracity of the human condition, I think it's important to stand up with back's straight and say:

I noticed. I saw. You have, my attention.

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Flatline - Spacebiscuits

Flatline - Spacebiscuits

A desk of components, a still smoldering soldering iron, circuits and wires everywhere. He closed his eyes and code flew past the holo-projections along the walls, he opened them and knew which parts of the telemetry were messed up. Sensors adorned the workstation at various heights, scanning perpetually for changes in temperature, electrical charge and chemical imbalances, impossibly quickly they routed directly into his mind to tell him what and where needed more attention.

There was a soft knock at his cabin door.

Monday, June 22, 2015

Rynyalla - Stoneblood Tails

Rynyalla - Stoneblood Tails

“It’s time.” Stoneblood Tails, closing on seven feet tall, moved with a stiff, deliberate slowness. The dozen Coyotul of the warband followed him, and after a moment, so did the motley Skeleton Crew. Questioning glances moved between them as they followed at a respectful distance. Behind the fire crackled low, the leftover meat and drink of the feast lay where it had been left, and the quiet of the drifting wind played across the midnight sky.

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Endless Horizons - Flatline: Childhood

Endless Horizons - Flatline: Childhood


“Give it back…”

“Make me!” It was like a scene out of those old movies. Some kind of after-school special. It would have been comical were it not him.

Tso faced off against Chet Thomlin and his five cronies. Chet was a full head taller than him, more muscular and with an angular, chiseled jawline that was uncharacteristic for 15. Chet was also holding onto his new Leonard-Gamlin Neurocomm.

“I’m not playing games, just give it back.” Tso sighed.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Drabble - Minimalism

I admire minimalism.
Minimalism.  I admire.
Admire I, minimalism.
Minimalism,  I.
I, minimalism.
Minimalism.

Friday, June 5, 2015

Writing Challenge - Joy

Writing Challenge - Joy

Tell a story. Five lines.
Dialogue only.


"Joy, are you there?"

"I just came by to talk. How is it going? How is everything?"

"It's nice here, and quiet. The kids are good, Blair is done school now, going backpacking across France soon."

"I sold that old quad, bought a new one. Grain's growing tall now. The days are warm. Ellie is learning to make pies."

"Joy? Are you there? I just came by to tell you that I still miss you."

Friday, May 29, 2015

Writing - Skytrain Gunfight in Two

Writing - Skytrain Gunfight in Two

“Take your shot.”

I stand on an empty train platform at 1 in the morning, having just exited the skytrain. My back is to a man who has been following me for the last seven stops, and the walk through downtown along West Georgia. He is in his late 30s, he has a non-descript backpack and a sling bag, black jeans, t-shirt and boots.

Life - Let's Go

Life - Let's Go

The night sky is open above my head. It stretches vast tracts above me, endless and uncertain. The wind calls, it picks up and holds me in her embrace. I am a lonely wanderer of the earth, but I am not alone.

Let's go.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Writing Exercise - The Belltower

Writing Exercise - The Belltower

The belltower was crumbling and wasting from disuse. Rotten timbers were strewn everywhere, the perhaps once-fancied idea of repairing the failing structure. Pigeons had taken to nesting in the eaves, vermin scurried underfoot, over it all was the pervasive fall of dust that clung to the surfaces like a lost lover. The rope to the bell-pull was long since gone, perhaps scavenged by some over-eager children for a new play-toy. The stairs rickety and unsafe to the rafter proper. But above it all, the bell. The bell, glorious thing, its brass had seen better days, and the clapper had some rust. But should it be rung, what a clear knell might sound over the abandoned city, consumed long ago by forest. What a clear kneel might sound.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Writing Challenge - Spartan

Writing Challenge - Spartan

The writing challenge for the next two days: 4-6 lines about a place that evoke an emotion through description of that place itself.

The space was even and regular, angular in a way that highlighted perfect corners and solid edges. Even the bed was impeccably dressed, no trace of softness to the blankets, or the stiff, single pillow that adorned it. There was no art on the walls, no accents on the tables, nothing gave off visible light save the soft glow of sunlight from the windows and the skylight. It could have been a magazine cover, or carefully tailored by an artisan's hand for a photographer. All that, save for a single dying rose on the bedside table, crinkled and beginning to flake in decay.

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Writing - Politics

Writing - Politics

On Saturday, Matt came over to help me out with some furniture and put up posters in my place. One of the ones that is most important to me is a poster that is the iconic picture of Tiananmen Square. Everyone has seen it. It's a young man, a university student with two bags of shopping groceries standing in front of a column of tanks, unphased.

I have a lot of stuff up on my walls, big art, small stuff, post cards, pictures, paintings. I have wall scrolls, and movie posters, game posters and everything in between. But that's probably the only really political piece I have.

I have it up there because it's an open reminder, for the last ten years of my life. I keep that poster, I put it up everywhere, I remember, I think and reflect on it.

It reminds me that it only takes one person. One person, to stand up to atrocity. One person to enact change. One person with a belief that things can get better, and that there are things that must be done. It reminds me that there are masses of people looking outside for inspiration, but for me, and for that man I hope, there was something internal, a reminder that the possibility of a better world exists. And that we all just need the courage to stand up for it.

Be loud friends.

Today is the election in Alberta, and I hope each individual one person, will also stand up for what they believe in.

Stand up.  You can't back up into the future.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Life - Litter

Life - Litter

I was playing video games in my living room when a group of six teenage boys walked down the sidewalk past. They're loud and laughing, telling jokes in the rain as they pass by, when I hear a clatter.

I look outside. Over the headset microphone, several of my squad-mates ask what that sound was.  The boys have tossed two cans onto the walkway of our house. Still laughing, they start walking away.

I am seized by something. I put the controller down, pop the headset off and immediately stand up. Before I can even fathom the movement, I have thrown the lock on my front door and am standing out on my own steps.

I roar. In the voice I only use to call above the din of concerts and into fly galleries. In a voice I only use for theatre to carry several stories up or over loud music.

I am angry. My roar carries across the street up and down the avenue.

You damn kids! Come back here and pick that up!

They stop, hesitate, two of them make to keep walking.

Is that what you are going to do? Walk away? You think people don't see? We don't notice? Well I saw. I saw exactly what you did! Now come back here and pick up your damn trash off my property! Right Now!

One boy shuffles back, his head bowed low. He stoops into the grass and grabs the cans, then flees back to the group of them.

I see my neighbours across the street peek out from their windows. I see a lady and her toddler across the street pause to watch the whole thing.

I shut the door. Exhale.

I put on the headset and pick the controller back up.


Sunday, April 19, 2015

Writing - Rynyalla: Kanilay In The Dark

Writing - Rynyalla: Kanilay In The Dark

If darkness was a lover then it was one she knew well. Coiled and shifting, it wreathed its way around her, holding fast as the unearthly ship’s prow plunged onwards. Behind her, the crew moved with an unflinching accuracy, even in the pitch of unnatural night. The creak of sinuous rope and the buckle and grate of bone beneath the feet were the only sounds to accompany the slow lap of waves beneath.

In the distance glittered the jewel of the Eastern world. Myrefall. Ships fled their approach, tacking hurriedly and dashing away across the waters, fleeing for some safe harbour. There were no such places. Her fleet arrayed out behind her, a mental command as the rows of ships fell into formation.

The thump of booted feet approached behind her. A minotaur guard, clad in dull green platemail, his seven foot frame of rippling muscle bent in subjugation. “My lady. Landfall approaches.”

She waves one hand dismissively, he retreats. Clearly she can see beyond sight the city, even with the mask adorning her face. Instead, she raises a finger as though to hush the darkness...and speaks.

“Cull the city. Bring me the tribute that our lady seeks.”

Waves crash, and bodies groan, and the fleet pushes forward.

And Kanilay waits in the dark.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Endless Horizons: Flatline - Texting

Endless Horizons: Flatline - Texting

The rack spun up in the dark. Mechanical processor started whirring, lights clipped on and the temperature rose by a degree. Flatline was sleeping, face down in the synth-cotton sheets. RAM spun and binary drifted. GUIN worked in the nanosecond spaces between nowhere and nothing.

The young hacker stirred, his eyes half open. Oculars and the synth jacks didn’t kick in yet, awaiting a mental command he never sent. Instead he lay awake, between awareness and not, half listening to the sound of electronics.

The myriad of terminals were sending a twist of digital code as they folded in on themselves again and again. On one console though there was the slow play of text unfolding, into a plain-char document that sat on a scratch-tunnel drive waiting to be uploaded to his wafer.

GUIN was writing something there, writing and erasing and writing again. Paragraphs appeared in an instant, the indicator dancing like wildfire down the page, before erasing it back again into missing digital particulate.

Over and over it happened, as he watched mesmerized.

The minutes ran into an hour, another.

Until the pulse of twisting text became just a single, simple sentence.

“Who am I?”

He closed his eyes.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Writing - On The Cascade of Humans

Writing - On The Cascade of Humans

Oh what these glorious monsters, astride in silence looking out into the darkness. I sat in quiet vantage, contemplating their movement and found myself alone. To behold their freewheeling paths, that which made them both envious and enviable.

Words bespoke one another, and gestures too. They tried to share their experiences, but words and language fail, they turn to pictures and then to long pieces of video, carefully constructed for the human mind, frame by frame at a galloping 60 per second.

These too fail.

I kept a silent vigil, long into the night. A cloak of cascade water, and a weary eye alight.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Celebrate - World Theatre Day 2015

Celebrate - World Theatre Day 2015



World Theater Day Message 2015

The true masters of the theater are most easily found far from the stage. And they generally have no interest in theater as a machine for replicating conventions and reproducing clichés. They search out the pulsing source, the living currents that tend to bypass performance halls and the throngs of people bent on copying some world or another. We copy instead of create worlds that are focused or even reliant on debate with an audience, on emotions that swell below the surface. And actually there is nothing that can reveal hidden passions better than the theater.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Quotes - Erik Larsen

Quotes - Erik Larsen

"The audience is not wiser than the creative people. If they were better writers and artists than those in the field, they would be employed in the field. They’re mouthy amateurs and their suggestions should largely be treated like the witless ramblings of an insane person."
-Erik Larsen 

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Poetry - Come

Poetry - Come

Come the darkness, and wind and rain
Come chains to bind the unwilling
Come fall the best, let angels rest
For my lady shall walk the world again.

-From the collected books on Nysanna

Life - Watering On A Rainy Day

Life - Watering On A Rainy Day

I walked past a man on a rainy day in Vancouver. In and of itself not an unusual occurance. My arms laden with groceries, earbuds in and loud music playing..a kind of slow discordant soundtrack to my life.

It is raining, the slow fall of water from the sky, a cascade of glorious pitter patter on pavement and leaves.

A man stands out the front of his house, on cobbled stone steps. He wears shorts, and a shirt, sandals, and a vacancy in his eyes. In his right hand is a watering hose, and it is still. He waters the cobbles quietly, unmoving, The press of the hose does not move, he waters the same spot as I approach.

He is not aware of my slow approach.

I reach up and remove the headphones from one ear. Looking concerned, I ask.

Are you, alright sir?

A long moment, of stillness save for rain.

He turns to the sound of my voice, but doesn't look quite at me. As though restrained in movement, unable to fixate quite all the way.

I'm fine. I was just...somewhere else.

Like an old clockwork, he turns back to the vacant place he was before.  And again grows still.

I put my earphones back in, and walk down the street.

I guess we're all somewhere else.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Endless Horizons - Flatline: Upgrades

Endless Horizons - Flatline: Upgrades

Kangiol was not a planet that Tso liked very much. It wasn’t like his home at all, and you couldn’t ignore the press of the UV lights, the overpowering heat and crush of too-many people, or the ever-present smell of Neo Taco-Bell.  The grunge of gangs and criminals were everywhere, more than a few people, at least when they caught sight of him, eyed his technological finery and gear with ill intention. But a quick flash of the pair of Autopistols on his chest holsters deterred most problems.

And whatever wasn’t deterred by a pair of pistols on a teched out spy-bandit was probably a little intimidated by him being shadowed by the leather-cloaked, shotgun wielding crazy bitch. Or hopefully really intimidated.  It paid to keep her in good spirits. Literally.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Endless Horizons - Flatline: Tech

Endless Horizons - Flatline: Tech

Tso didn’t exactly luxuriate. But he did relax.  Hernando had given him a state room a little further away from the rest, telling others that it was because he didn't want anyone bothered by all the computers, fans and blinking lights.

That was partially true. One wall of the room was racks of cobbled together electronics. Wires dangled from the removed ceiling panels where he’d installed cooling vents that pushed warm air out into the bulkheads.  Sets of tables adorned the rest of the room, it was like some kind of mad scientist’s lab. Equipment was strewn everywhere, wires and welds, tools lay out everywhere and in rolling racks. It seemed like the bed was a complete afterthought.

Monday, March 9, 2015

D&D - Why

D&D - Why

Why do we play D&D?  I had this conversation a few weeks ago with someone.  She said that for her D&D was more just an excuse to get together and hang out.  An excuse to drink and order pizza and see people.

I shook my head.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Endless Horizons - Flatline: Contingency

Endless Horizons - Flatline: Contingency

“Sir, you have incoming.” Intoned Guin suddenly.

“Onscreen, Guin” said Flatline distractedly.

“No sir. You have actual incoming.” At that Flatline looked up. A map display of the building snapped into holo-view above his cobbled rack from where he’d been working. The three-dimensional model showed four blips moving through the abandoned under-floors of the building, obviously moving with purpose. He was sixteen floors up, a half-constructed apartment complex that had been abandoned for one reason or another. Squatters occupied the bottom 5, but up here the wind was too strong against the open concrete for people to actually stay. No running water either, but there was electricity, and a hook into the SolarNet that functioned just fine.

“Shit. Eta?”

Thursday, February 26, 2015

The Endless Horizons - Encrypted Messages

The Endless Horizons - Encrypted Messages

Tso leaned back, fingers unconsciously stretching beneath his tipless gloves.  Digital lines of the Solarnet peeled away from his vision finally as he de-jacked.  The Solarnet here was not encrypted particularly well, and he’d found what he’d needed with relative ease.  Listings of work, job offers and ticket numbers danced across the console.  He’d done a little bit of background work on a few, but the pile was largely untouched.

Friday, February 20, 2015

People - Broken Man - I Was Raped, Does Anyone Care?

People - Broken man - I Was Raped, Does Anyone Care?

What follows is a lengthy, difficult, unreferenced autobiographical writing from an otherwise anonymous poster on reddit.  He uses a throw-away alias, that would be difficult, if not largely impossible to track down.  He even opens with an admission that he doesn't know what he aims to accomplish by posting this story.  I don't know what I intend to accomplish by reposting it.

Only that it is a troubling piece of writing.  It's a human piece of writing.  It delves into a societal darkness that is problematic for us to analyze too closely.  But we need to do a number of things, at least in my reckoning.  First, this man needs to know that we do care.  That the world is changing, and that we listen, and have empathy as individuals, as a culture, as a society for him.  That his story, were it to prove credible is worth listening to.  Second, that our world is changing that twenty years ago, ten years ago...men would never have even imagined that this was a problem.  He delves a little bit into this in his piece of writing.

We don't live in that world anymore.  We're in the midst of transitioning through it, but the world is a-changing through it.  We have a lot of hard questions to ask, and a lot of harder answers to find.  But we'd never know until stories like this, human stories begin coming to light.

So I share it with you, in the darkness of the internet.  In some strange corner of nowhere.  Hopefully it moves you to ask questions too.  Obviously...trigger warnings galore.

Edit: I added this message when I shared it to Facebook...I feel like it might, but maybe doesn't, explain why I put it into a public blog to share. 

This is a piece of writing I read tonight.  Once I finished reading it, I had to go for a walk and think about it.  When I got back, I transcribed it over the course of half an hour, loaded it into one of my private blogs and left it. I keep repositories of writing for myself everywhere, dark writing, tragic writing.  Human writing.

Then I came back five minutes later.  I hadn't shared it. Maybe it was because I was ashamed I had read it? Maybe because I was ashamed for the guy, his story that I had read. It was on my mind. It was on my mind because I didn't know how to explain it. I still don't. I don't know why it is important, only that it is. And in an era where we share images of kittens, and what people wear, or what GoT character best represents us...why would I hesitate to share something important?

Truthfully I'm still not sure. But I'd like to talk about it.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Lora - Women

Lora - Women

A friend of mine posted on facebook, a very simple message as a 'status'.

Women get shit done. And I love women.
Just sayin'.

Goodbye - Gilda Radner

Goodbye - Gilda Radner



Bill Murray on Gilda Radner:

"Gilda got married and went away. None of us saw her anymore. There was one good thing: Laraine had a party one night, a great party at her house. And I ended up being the disk jockey. She just had forty-fives, and not that many, so you really had to work the music end of it. There was a collection of like the funniest people in the world at this party. Somehow Sam Kinison sticks in my brain. The whole Monty Python group was there, most of us from the show, a lot of other funny people, and Gilda. Gilda showed up and she’d already had cancer and gone into remission and then had it again, I guess. Anyway she was slim. We hadn’t seen her in a long time. And she started doing, “I’ve got to go,” and she was just going to leave, and I was like, “Going to leave?” It felt like she was going to really leave forever.

So we started carrying her around, in a way that we could only do with her. We carried her up and down the stairs, around the house, repeatedly, for a long time, until I was exhausted. Then Danny did it for a while. Then I did it again. We just kept carrying her; we did it in teams. We kept carrying her around, but like upside down, every which way—over your shoulder and under your arm, carrying her like luggage. And that went on for more than an hour—maybe an hour and a half—just carrying her around and saying, “She’s leaving! This could be it! Now come on, this could be the last time we see her. Gilda’s leaving, and remember that she was very sick—hello?”

We worked all aspects of it, but it started with just, “She’s leaving, I don’t know if you’ve said good-bye to her.” And we said good-bye to the same people ten, twenty times, you know.

And because these people were really funny, every person we’d drag her up to would just do like five minutes on her, with Gilda upside down in this sort of tortured position, which she absolutely loved. She was laughing so hard we could have lost her right then and there.

It was just one of the best parties I’ve ever been to in my life. I’ll always remember it. It was the last time I saw her.”

- from Live from New York: an Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Life - Valentines

Life - Valentines

"So what did you do today?"

What did I do?

I played 8 hours of Diablo 3, spread out into intervals, Over 24 hours since season 2 launched I raced a character all the way up to 70 alone.  A reasonably impressive feat I think.

I also made myself an omelette, spinach, arugula, chorizo and an excellent, sharp British Leicester cheddar.

I took a walk in the sun for about an hour.

I hung out with a buddy of mine for 3 hours while he hunted monsters.

I wrote four pages of music for a piano composition that I'm thinking about.

Watched a documentary about sustainability, sushi and the bluefin tuna.

I wrote a triptych scene for the first time for a game I'm making.  Each part of the triptych is a similar scene but done in a radically different writing style.

I sorted a stack of about 90 cards by colour and playability for my next tournament.

Chatted with a friend from Romania.

Did a small, 4 inch by 4 inch watercolour painting for a friend's birthday.

Got a bag of popcorn from my sister from Seattle, it's my favourite.

"Oh.  So...you didn't..."

Have a casual sexual hookup with another mid-twenty something celebrating an arbitrary day in February revolving around pink red and white?

Nope.

I'm not even bitter. Today was a good day.

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Quotes - Hayao Miyazaki - On Worldbuilding

Quotes - Hayao Miyazaki - On Worldbuilding

"The creation of a single world comes from a huge number of fragments and chaos." - Hayao Miyazaki

I saw this quote earlier today and have been thinking on it a lot.  I do a tremendous amount of world building in my day to day life, spend hours thinking about character and place, moments and scenes.  I might spend tremendous amounts of time charting back individual items through fictional history.  I find it relaxing, and it warms my brain up.

I've been pondering how many of those weird little indiscriminate strange moments go into everything we make.  When we create, how far out do we look, how do we connect dots.

And then do we have the right moment to step completely outside ourselves and look at HOW we did that.  I don't spend enough time on that.  But I think I did today when I read that quote.

Monday, February 2, 2015

Tragedy - Roald Dahl - Loss

Tragedy - Roald Dahl - Loss

Roald Dahl wrote this heartbreaking account about his daughter Olivia, who died of Measles.

Awful drive. Lorries kept holding us up on narrow roads. Got to hospital. Ambulance went to wrong entrance. Backed out. Arrived. Young doctor in charge. Mervyn and he gave her 3mg sodium amatol. I sat in hall. Smoked. Felt frozen. A small single bar electric fire on wall. An old man in next room. Woman doctor went to phone. She was trying urgently to locate another doctor. He arrived. I went in. Olivia lying quietly. Still unconscious. She has an even chance, doctor said. They had tapped her spine. Not meningitis. It's encephalitis. Mervyn left in my car. I stayed. Pat arrived and went in to see Olivia. Kissed her. Spoke to her. Still unconscious. I went in. I said, "Olivia Olivia." She raised her head slightly off pillow. Sister said don't. I went out. We drank whiskey. I told doctor to consult experts. Call anyone. He called a man in Oxford. I listened. Instructions were given. Not much could be done. I first said I would stay on. Then I said I'd go back with Pat. Went. Arrived home. Called Philip Evans. He called hospital. Called me back. "Shall I come?" "Yes please." I said I'd tell hospital he was coming. I called. Doc thought I was Evans. He said I'm afraid she's worse. I got in the car. Got to hospital. Walked in. Two doctors advanced on me from waiting room. How is she? I'm afraid it’s too late. I went into her room. Sheet was over her. Doctor said to nurse go out. Leave him alone. I kissed her. She was warm. I went out. "She is warm." I said to doctors in hall, "Why is she so warm?" "Of course," he said. I left.

Life - Don't Click Send

Life - Don't Click Send

I had a window open to message you.  Technology is funny that way.  I never wrote anything, but there's a window open for it.

I'm working, watching code spiral through and numbers dance the screen.  An almost...a not notification.  You're typing something to me.  And then you decide not to, and it disappears.  Four times it happens.  I watch it the same way I watch my debug windows and wonder.  It appears again, you're typing.  And it disappears as you delete whatever it was you wanted to say.

I wonder what you wrote.  I wonder what you wanted to say and didn't.  What you wanted to say and couldn't.

I don't type anything, just think in the darkness to myself.

I guess we had nothing to send one another anyway.

Friday, January 30, 2015

Quotes - Protection

Quotes - Protection

Because no act of aggression is as fierce or as insuppressible as a true act of protection.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Writing - Alesha, Who Smiles at Death - The Truth of Names

Writing - Alesha, Who Smiles at Death - The Truth of Names


Wizards posted this yesterday. When I read things like this, it reminds me that the world we knew of twenty years ago has changed, is changing, and is different. It's not changing perhaps as fast as we'd like, or without the growing pains...but it is getting better. It's a story about a woman, who holds equal footing in a fantasy setting as any male counterpart (perhaps in truth more than equal footing), and it's a story about strength.

Give it a read.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Art - Life and Death

Art - Life and Death

A little beautiful two sentence story that I came across a week ago.  And I haven't really stopped thinking about.  It's by Constructionpaperandtears.


Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Writing - Only Martyrs Teach in America

Writing - Only Martyrs Teach in America

A piece of writing by PaterTemporalis

Your environment will be the least of your worries if you are considering studying to be a teacher right now. When it comes to students and environments, not only do you get to love the kids in most places and EARN respect if you're actually a decent teacher, if you really don't fit in a place, you can find another job; this is not the "good ol days" where teachers never moved; right-to-work idiocy has contributed heavily to the kind of teaching where you never really get tenured or established in one place unless you really, really want to.

What you SHOULD be worrying about is the absolute annihilation of the professional nature of teaching at all, especially if it's going to be five or more years until you begin. In 2014, I ended a ten-year teaching career, and I advised my students strongly against entering the field. It was hard for my generation, yes, with the whole NCLB issue (which was ratified while I was in college) and the massive restructuring of all educational funding around quantitative data. That was our burden to carry, but the burden your generation of teachers will carry? It's almost too much to ask anyone to deal with. You will be required to become very proficient in your field, spend exorbitant amounts of money on education and training, and then, with new nationalized curricula and districts and principals desperate for money, you will be given no academic freedom to implement what you know, unless what you studied was statistics. Students are no longer individuals with individual needs; they are an aggregate of data that determine whether a school will receive operating funds or not. The past few decades have stripped away every vestige of professionalism from teaching. Your work will far more closely resemble that of a number-crunching accountant or a Wal-Mart associate working from a script than that of a Masters-degree holding professional allowed to create a unique learning environment suited to your students based on your analysis.

Moreover, the educational bubble is going to blow soon. I worked successfully for 10 years, have never bought a new car, or owned a home, but the $35,000 salaries I never exceeded were simply not enough to pay off the $40,000 of college debt I incurred. I will default on them this year. This nation has made a deliberate attempt to defund primary and secondary education over the past few decades and the business of education can be summed up as such: you're expected to be a professional, but given neither the freedom nor the compensation or authority to justify such a position; you, your school, and your district will be so desperate for money and resources that you'll feel like you're living in the third world, and the division of parents between those who have truly given up on education and those who will helicopter the shit out of their brats out of entitlement and desperation has become complete. There is no happy middle that I have seen.

Man, there are no upsides to being a teacher unless you are a St. Sebastian kind of martyr, and things are going to get WAY worse very soon before they get better. Your question is a common starting question. I have worked everywhere from the inner-city, metal-detector school in northern PA to the podunk, 300-person middle school in rural Florida. Forget your superficial concerns, the whole discipline you're considering is on fire, collapsing and destroying the lives of a huge number of people involved in it. Pay and respect have never been lower, and the sheer amount of sidework has never been higher.

Only martyrs teach now in America.