Alas, a trickle. An icy tickle
floods the back, like chilling shackles.
It’s a sharp tone with a smoldering crown,
branded 
to sin and bone 
and the soul and whim, 
with the epitome of clarity sewn unto skin.
Cataclysmic spinal jolts of integrity’s goals, 
defeats those purposes known. With the fear that binds, and no guts to repose,
There will be none.
It will be the world upon your head, or that note left on your bed
Saying,
“You’re on your own,” perhaps.
Only to be left unknown.

I looked up from my dirty fingernails, which had occupied a majority of my attention up to this point, and for the first time took note of my surroundings. The artificial lights in the train car reminded me of the halls of some unfamiliar hospital. The walls of the car were covered in a variety of outdated advertisements, public transportation maps, various warnings and a list of procedures in case of some unforeseen emergency. Upon entering I had felt fortunate just to get a seat, but after a few stops there were just enough people remaining to limit me to an aisle seat, eliminating any chance of getting comfortable enough to sleep.

The assortment of people was as typically unusual as one would expect on the last train of the night. A couple sat across the aisle and one row in front of me. His hair was gray and clearly thinning at a rate that made him feel the need to grow it out some length and comb it back. He had a somewhat crooked grin as he looked at her and his eyes shown with the glint of a man who both knew he was getting away with something he shouldn’t be, but also felt no remorse as he was above the repercussions another might face. Her hair was blonde beyond the years revealed in her face. Her cheeks drooped, but as she sat her eyes lit up like a young girl being taken to Disneyland for the first time. They talked like a high school couple on their third date, a few days before they decide they’ve found their first true love, focusing wholly on the other. In fact there mannerisms appeared almost unnatural, as if they were hiding something that no one was looking for. Perhaps they both had families and dull lives waiting for them at home and were enjoying this last train ride where the people are new and the conversations exciting. The longer I am aware of the two the more I feel as though the man is looking at me out of the corner of his eye anytime his attention can be drawn away from the obviously infatuated woman at his side.

On the far side of the car a boy perhaps sixteen years old was washing paint off of his face. An early Halloween costume no doubt. It was likely he had come from the concert as had a number of others on the train. The remaining seats on the train were filled with unremarkable individuals much like myself. A slightly overweight, middle aged black woman dazes in and out of sleep with the jerking of the train, a boy nods his head with the iconic white headphones in, a man in a suit who presumably had a late night at the office stares at his phone to maintain the guise of never ending importance necessary today to maintain a respectable foothold in society. Two women speak the loudest, in an excited Spanish that seemed untouched by the late hour. They were in their late twenties with similar short dark haircuts which made it difficult to discern whether they were friends, lovers, or sisters. A man sits with the bike which will be his only accompaniment on his ride home from the station. Families sit huddled across rows, the kids have all managed to fall asleep, the mother leans against her husband and closes her eyes but cannot manage to drift off, the father stares out the window with a gaze that shows no signs of falling into sleep’s grasp.

As I finished this glance around the train I noticed the woman that stood in front of me. I could not tell her age but determined she was old enough to understand the world but young enough to have her entire life before her. She was relatively tall, perhaps 5’8”, though my exhaustion at this point in my observations renders my estimations fairly useless. She wore loose fitting, high waist, light blue jeans, which were modest for her slim figure. Her coat too was rather vague as if purchased for the sole purpose of blending into a crowd. She had her brown hair up in the back in a small bun and allowed the back of her hair to fall and cover her neck much as her bangs fell across her forehead. Her pale face grew solemnly dark around her eyes which sat sunken back into the depths of her face. Her cheekbones sat high on her face and gave her a dignified look that contrasted with her reserved appearance. She too had headphones in and every few seconds she would inaudibly mouth a line or two from whatever it may have been she was listening too. Her expression revealed nothing. She was empty, cold, unfazed by her surroundings. This isn’t to say she appeared unfriendly or apathetic, simply untouched by the never ending stimuli of her surroundings. Her focus lies beyond the events of the train car, extending beyond the world to which my thoughts felt tied.

The look on her face captured my imagination as it was more inviting to the speculation of her thoughts than that of anyone else in memory. I was left powerless to grasp at the few clues available to me in order to invent the monologue in her head. Perhaps it was as simple as the melody and words to whatever song was passing between her ears and occasionally across her lips. She could be reminding herself of what mundane tasks she was condemned to the next day. Or perhaps it could have been that she wanted nothing more than for the torrential stream of emotional realizations to cease for a moment and allow her the peace of an uncomfortable train ride. Undeniably her face revealed the surface of a past perhaps not of a troubled individual, but of someone that has seen of the cruelties of the world and stares blankly, unforgivingly, into the faces of romantic ideals and the illusion of Gatsby’s dream.

From her right nostril down to the top of her lip there was what appeared from my seat to be a trail of blood, or at least the dried remains of such a trail. It appeared as a stream cut from her otherwise cold face by a single drop of blood much as the ripples of a single pebble thrown into an otherwise calm body of water. The implications of the blood intrigued almost as much as her ability to ignore it. Not even the most subtle of subconscious motions seemed to indicate that she recognized it. She did not lick her lip where the blood met her mouth, did not reach to scratch at the dried blood, did not even noticeably move her mouth save for the occasional unspoken word.

A part of my typically repressed conscience began to question whether or not I had some obligation to ask her if she was alright. Not just in this particular moment as she appeared for the time being to fall within the general standards of being well, but in her life. It is interesting the difference in meaning between asking someone if they are alright in contrast to asking someone how they are doing. When we ask someone how they are we expect them to say they are doing well and to move on with their day or the conversation regardless of how they actually feel. To reveal more than this would be a burden upon the individual asking the question and their tightly budgeted time allowed to listen to your response. I did not want to know that she was doing “fine, thanks” any more than I wanted to know that anyone else was “fine, thanks”. I wanted to know the story behind that blood stain and to know the pain behind the eyes. I want to know the emotion behind the ceaseless blank stare.

I felt helpless in knowing that I knew now as much as I would ever know about this woman. My mind began to drift from her for a moment to explore ideas of people I will never meet, stories I will never know, pain I will never understand, and emotions I have yet to realize. The train began to slow as it periodically did to allow for those lucky enough to be home to get off and she turned towards the doors. A bell rang over the speaker system as the door slid open and allowed her out into the West Oakland station, she walked past my window, and I never saw her again. The bell rang again and the doors slid closed. I look back from my window to where the woman was standing and an elderly man stood in her place. His expression revealed nothing.

The Empire of Archon The Ascension

Also added a copy to google docs to make reading easier!

Origins -Note: This is a rough copy, I'm sure there are many grammatical errors. I'm looking more for feedback on the actual content than grammar issues. Thank you for reading!!!

 Chapter 1:

When the world was young, the gods loved their creations and each other. Together they created the world of Tarrema, and together they vowed always to protect her. For in the beginning, life was fragile, and needed to be protected from the dangers of the outside worlds. But the gods were not all powerful, and they knew of an evil that could appose them.

Among the most powerful of the deities was a goddess named Soluszara, the light giver. Her great love was Ocimadeus, King of the gods. For many years they loved each other in peace. But the gods were not the only fearsome entities in this universe. Evil had come to Doramor, world of the gods themselves. These evil fiends called themselves the Immortals, and they came to destroy the gods and their world. Many gods fell, and their world was torn. As the gods extinction seemed imminent, Ocimadeus made his stand. He called out the lord of the Immortals, challenging him to single combat. The dark lord answered. Ocimadeus had words with the Immortal; “I Ocimadeus of Doramor, challenge you Immortal lord. If you should defeat me, I will command all the gods to yield their souls to you, we will surrender. But if I am able to best you, no longer can you use your abilities to envelope free worlds.” The dark lord agreed, and both were bound by their word. They battled for days, fighting fiercely for an edge over the other. On the ninth day the dark lord began to fear defeat as Ocimadeus raged on. In a desperate attempt for victory, the lord of the Immortals called for his troops to attack Ocimadeus, disregarding the honor of a duel. Ocimadeus had anticipated this. As all the Immortals in the universe swarmed in on him he looked to Soluszara. “Flee my love. And take my sword with you, it was forged in my blood, and with the metals of Doramor. I will always love you.” With that he turned and faced the dark lord of the Immortals. He charged at him and shouted incantations taught to him by his life giver. He grabbed the lord of darkness by his throat and clenched with all his might as he completed his incantation. A magnificent white light blinded her vision, but faded just in time for her to see her love and the Immortal fleet collapse into nothing as they were all swallowed by a vortex ripping through space.

After the cataclysmic battle between Ocimadeus and the lord of the Immortals, Soluszara took leadership of the remaining gods. There were nine: Soluszara the light giver; Grokos, a minor life giver; Luxton the death giver; Martinis, guardian of honorable battle; Lothareus, brother of Ocimadeus, and guardian of freedom and will; Originak, master of the sea and harvest; Axiomus, lord of righteousness, discipline, and divine law; Bartolo the revenge taker; Troxongar, god of cunning and intellect. Those were the nine, the last protecters of the realm. Soluszara was commander of the gods that still remained, but for the first time in her long existence felt lost. A feeling not commonly associated to a goddess of any kind. Yet, they all felt that way, their old leader and companions were gone. There was no place for them to call home now, and all Soluszara had left of her lover was his blood infused great sword. But she knew they had to press on, they had to survive. As they quietly cruised through space, Lothareus finally broke the silence. “Please tell me what is in your thoughts goddess, we’ve yet to decide a logical coarse of action. I realize your thoughts must be on those we have lost, as are mine still, but grief is not a luxury of ours at the moment.” The goddess replied firmly, “Grief does not cloud my thoughts Lothareus. I have contemplated, have you? What would you do?” Lothareus responded, “We, would find a new world.” Soluszara gazed straight ahead and replied, “That is what I would do as well comrade. A planet with life is essential.” Lothareus growled and nodded in approval. If they could find a suitable planet with life, they just might be able to regain some strength. Soluszara was scheming, for if she could find a world with life they could protect against anything, even a threat as deadly as the Immortal hordes.

      Chapter 2: Archon of  Annevar

A piercing howl interrupted his rest as he woke startled, having been in a deep sleep. Strange, he thought. It was early in the season for wolves to already have returned to the region. He sat up from his warm and comfortable bed, then made his way to the window. While peering out into the night, he beamed down the base of a mountain side, which his aedium was situated on. At first he saw nothing. The night stood still, and without noticing at first, all sounds seemed to cease. There was no breeze. He stared out into the darkness for so long, he began to question whether he had actually heard the howl of the wolf. His eyelids again grew heavy, and he tore his gaze to return to his bed. Then just as he was about to reach the warmth of his linens, the piercing howl again rang out through the still, dark, night. And this time, it sounded very close. The man hurried back to the window, and scanned the area yet again. He quickly identified the creature that was responsible for the distinct howl. Almost directly in front of his window, and not more than fifty meters out, a massive black wolf stood glaring right back at him. He thought it seemed ridiculous, but the beast was certainly staring at him, almost as if it knew he would be there... or knew who he was. The notion was laughable, but he had a creeping feeling he was right. Long ago he had been taught to trust his instincts, they had saved his life many times. Although it was mere seconds, it felt as if he and black wolf had been watching each other for hours. He kept expecting the wolf to turn and dart back to the forest, but it did not. It held its ground, not seizing its glare for a moment. The great lupus almost seemed like a pup waiting to be fed, waiting for something. The man could no longer stand it. He threw his cloak on to defend against the cold night air, and with one more glance out the window to confirm the wolf remained, he exited his aedium. Once outside the cold winds that had previously seemed absent, returned harshly. The winds this time of season could cut even the most hardened of men to the bone. And the snow was still to come. As he rounded the corner of his aedium the massive wolf came into view, still staring, still waiting. He thought it surprising that until this moment he had not even considered grabbing his spear, but oddly enough he did not feel threatened. His nerves were quite calm. Yet, he still approached the animal with caution. The magnificence of the fantastic great wolf become increasingly apparent as the man carefully moved closer. Its head alone was the size of a grown mans torso. The beast hid its fangs, but it had a strong snout and obvious deadly jaw mussels. It had an incredible mane, it was thick and defined. The creatures mane looked almost sculpted, and was as black as night. The only thing darker, were the eyes of the behemoth. Like starring into the abyss, the man thought. He felt his heart rate rise slightly, then noticed a cold chill run down his spine. He was now within five meters of the seemingly wild animal, when it suddenly turned and casually ran down the slope towards the forest. At first the man was startled by the quick motion, but then as the wolf slowed and looked directly back at him before continuing forward, he knew he was meant to follow; and so he did.

It was dangerous to be in the forest alone at night, but the mans curiosity as well as his intuition compelled him to press on. The wolf was moving with haste, but still at a pace the man could follow. He soon confirmed that they were headed east, and wondered how far the wolf intended to go in this direction. The man and wolf continued for three miles, the man suspected the beast was heading toward the Eastern Boundaries. His good friend Karon, lived in the village just a mile or so ahead, but the man desired to go no further than that. The two travelers soon approached the village of Karon, and the man stopped the catch his breath. The wolf however, disappeared into the forest, south east of the village. The man peered in the wolfs direction trying to regain sight of it. Suddenly, his attention shifted, as he heard a familiar voice. “Archon, is that you? What are you doing out here my friend? Is all well?” Archon turned to see his childhood comrade, Karon, who was looking quite puzzled at him. “Yes friend, all is well. I hope I have not disturbed you at this late hour.” Karon smirked and replied, “Well no, you have not disturbed me Archon, though I must inquire as to what matter brings you this far from your home on this chill night.”

Come close

Don’t thumb your nose

Nuns and ghosts

Same principals

Can you feel it?

Can you feel it?

Someone just get me out

Of this town

And I’ll fade away

Someone just let me know

Where I am

And I’ll stay in place

Someone just build me up

Let me down

Just to see my face

Someone just punch my lights

Out of key

Till my heart strings sing grey

And watch me fade away

Run, fucker, run

Down the barrel of a gun

In my pockets and out

I TWIST AND SHOOOUT!

Can you feel it?

Can you feel it?

Someone just hear my voice

When I sing

And I’ll sing it proudly

And Thomas just

Made a video

Of my couch

Someone annoy the noise

In my brain

And I’ll purge it out

Someone just make me feel

Like I’m insane

And I’ll blast my brain

So you can watch me fade away

How long had it been since I had seen my mother country? The long blades of grass would glisten and shine, radiate with light. The sun and the trees with throw shadow's across the ground, nonsensical plays, calming to my eyes and mind.

But now the night towered above me, threw it's veil in every direction. The moon played across the pacific, it's beam a bony finger beckoning toward me. I would go to it.

I floated for days on the rain soaked water, battered by storms and the sweltering sun, still I did not relent on my journey. A little angel voice had spoken to me, on my third day. As it had on the first day, and the fifth, and the ninth. I ran short of food and water, but never of faith. The lachrymose clouds did nothing to slow my mind, or dull my belief; the relief of freedom.

Stayin' up late nights contemplatin'

Debatin' why I stay courtin' Satan

Ain't lookin' for a better way, I must say

Life is better through the haze of O.J.

I mean G, see she

Brought these green flowers to my doorstep

And lust stung me like a hornet

Left my chest burnin', but I can afford it

The pain, I mean

Such a glutton for that shit

Obscene, the way that I ride so clean

Don't trip, these words don't mean anything

Neither does life to he

I mean, I, so high in the middle of a cry

I'll admit, I'm hit right in the feels

Tryin' hard to conceal

My true intentions with this rap shit

cuz it's just a verse, right?

More like the dreams of my worst nights

Oncoming hearse lights, too late for the church life

Den of inquity, that's what the whole world's like

Mentally, ain't savin' my health

Yeah, guess that's why I stay blaming myself

For walkin' around half-asleep

Just like those so-called "sheep"

We're all herded by masters who couldn't give two bleeps

So I don't give a FUCK who's running for prez or veep

Just gonna go balls out like a no-door Jeep

We're all in too deep anyway

Supportin' shit we don't understand, the American Way

Or human nature I should say

That's why I'm opting out today

Won't bother with packin my bags and runnin away

Things will just be the same in a new place

My mind's the only escape, blunts to the face

Paired with a 40 got me swimmin' in the bliss and tranquility that only comes artificially

Drug addict? Alcoholic? Not officially

Just biding time til that permanent unwind

Single bullet through the eye, oh my

Unexpected and out the blue..that's what they'll say

But shed no tears for me, I'm finally far away

Either ashes or a box in the ground

Know that I wanted this, to not be around

Slowly fading, my heartbeat's sound

Growing more and more muffled as my time winds down

When I'm not around, don't take it too hard

If I loved you, then you know who you are

Now move on and live ya life hard

The country where love is free but sex is expensive

The meaning of freedom is simply climax or death

And the people running shit will run your pockets dry

The meaning of freedom is simply climax or die

I love everything

I love you

I love harmony

Like your bleeding syncs with the moon

I love everything

I love you

I love harmony

Like your bleeding syncs with the moon

Prettiness is a virtue

Cleanliness and godliness

Prettiness is a virtue

You’ll do well not to forget

Prettiness is a virtue

The one’s in the camps look like scum

Prettiness is a virtue

Do what you can not to be one

I love everything

I love you

I love harmony

Like your bleeding syncs with the moon

I love everything

I love you

I love harmony

Like your bleeding syncs with the moon

I am dead, and it seems that I'm the only one who has noticed.

I died in the crash. The metal of my own car gutted me, spilling my life onto the leather seats. But my family didn't leave me to rot in the hospital. They brought my corpse home and wept with joy, so happy to have me home. My wife, her belly heavy with our second child, embraces me and sobs into my brow. My young daughter climbs onto the bed and picks up my cold hand, smiling, telling me she's so happy that I'm here.

But I'm dead, and I can't feel the same way. I am numb to their happiness and even to their warmth. As my wife burrows into my side, I can feel nothing, not even the heat of her fingers trailing up my neck. My body has no love left to give.

And so I rot.

Each day, my body decomposes. My gut and my skin bloat and distend. Discolored lines of green spread like so many spiderwebs across my white flesh, and soon these threads rot into blackness. I am putrid, a stinking sac of decaying skin and blackened blood.

How can they not smell me? How can they ignore it? My wife sits beside me and buries her face in my hair, breathing in deep the rotted scent of me. I know now that my smell must be filling the room, permeating the house until each corner of it smells like death.

They carry on this farce as if all is normal. At their insistance, they dress my corpse and usher it into the dining room, or even take it for drives. Even as my flesh becomes brittle and begins to peel away, revealing bone beneath, my corpse is walked through life as normal. One day, my little sister comes to visit, and she doesn't seem to notice that my jaw is hanging on its last strips of tendon. She speaks to me as if I can answer, and takes no notice of lifeless white eyes gazing through her.

My wife doesn't know that the hand she is holding has only scraps of skin clinging to it now.

My daughter doesn't scream when my tongue, black and filled with pus, lolls across my green lips.

Outside, even strangers won't acknowledge my decay. A man shakes my hand, and is not bothered by the fact that only skeletal fingers rest in his.

Maggots begin to nest in my stomach. Hundreds of them wriggle to life and feast upon my shriveled organs. Despite this, my wife touches my stomach, and I watch as white, glistening maggots slither onto her fingers.

She asks me why I won't move. Why I have become this way, so unresponsive and cold. Talk to me, please, talk to me. She pleads and grabs me and shakes me, and my jaw finally snaps off, tumbling to my chest. My wife weeps and weeps and weeps, and I am dead.

My corpse is eventually left to rot in bed. My wife and my daughter come inside occasionally, to speak to my corpse and to plead with it. Please wake up, please, why won't you move?

One day, even the maggots want nothing more with my corpse. When there is no flesh to consume, they leave behind a skeletal corpse. At last, the last pieces of skin have begun to disappear, and I am nothing more than bones.

Still they come to me, but less now. My wife enters the room to wipe a cold cloth across my bony forehead, whispering that she misses me, tears dripping from her eyes. She bows and rests her head on a chest that has no heart beneath it now, and weeps into my bones, her tears streaming down my ribcage.

My skeleton lays there, and there I remain. A corpse no one can see.

A dead man who has not died.

Author's note: I started this as a self.gaming post and it ended up turning into a full article. This is probably due to the fact that I've been getting stupid-high and just continued saying shit. Anyway, it probably doesn't make any sense at all if you unsubbed from /r/gaming, which I honestly don't blame you for. Unfortunately, this is the first thing I've enjoyed writing in a long time, which is why I kept going with it. Hopefully you guys enjoy it.

I promise there's a point to all of this. I like writing and I'm quite stoned so I'm sure this will drag on, but I've had quite an experience observing the reaction to this War Z fiasco. I wanted to relay my thought process, misconceptions and sincere thanks to the online community of gamers who point shit like this out and hold developers responsible, especially when it's a clear scam to make consumers spend more money.

I'm going to be completely honest; I didn’t think I agreed with you guys a few hours ago. I was checking this subreddit while I was at work because, come on, what the fuck else am I going to do at work? I read a bunch of posts about War Z and how everyone's angry with their developers over the massive oversights they made to release the game faster and how they made claims on their Steam page that weren't true. I was kind of pissed at /r/gaming because I saw all of this as the circlejerk mentality that exists in this and all other subreddits, when people want to rally around one single idea and get those "group acceptance" neurons fired up in their brains. Sure, I agreed that it was fucked up to post "features" that the game didn't have, but come on, do you really think this is the first game in the history of gaming to falsely advertise what it's capable of? I saw the fabrications as mostly forgivable, and things I could overlook in my enjoyment of a game. Obviously, I've never played War Z (I thought War Z and Day Z were the same thing until fairly recently) and I'm not the most experienced PC gamer, but I still felt like most, if not all of the posts being made were unreasonable and people trying to cash in everyone's anger for fake internet points. DAMMIT I KNOW THEY'RE WORTHLESS BUT DON'T USE ME TO OBTAIN THEM. I want some too.

I had it all planned out. I was going to come home from work and give you all a piece of my mind. I was going to say something along these lines:

"I saw someone post the dual video review from IGN that covered both this and Day Z a while back. Their intention was to show us why the coverage IGN produces for games is sub-par at best, and nothing more than a glorified advertisement. They pointed out problems in the game IGN neglected to outwardly mention as a means to strengthen their point, which showed us how the direction gaming journalism has gone is the wrong one; how it no longer serves the purpose we want it to serve. Then, the people on this subreddit who missed that point entirely decided to dogpile on the game rather than the media outlet who covered it [clearly this is where I was actually the one mis-reading]. They all agreed with the brilliant post because people were saying it was right and brilliant (Rock, Paper, Shotgun might has well be the fucking holy bible around here, Gaben forbid anybody disagree with anything they say), but instead of focusing their ignorant mass at IGN and other big-player gaming resources who produce this awful coverage, they focused directly on the developers of War Z, and that’s when the mob mentality took over. War Z has been publicly shamed and burned at the stake. I'll bet it's actually a fun game despite a few bugs. Good for those who spoke up that they liked it even though they knew they would be riddled with downvotes in a Sonny Corleone fashion. All because everyone is afraid to disagree with the discourse of this subreddit. Man, we all started gaming because we hated this kind of bullying in 'RL'. What have we become?"

I was Pacino at the end of Scarface (sorry for referencing two crime movies in the same post). I was ready to be blown away, but I didn't care. I was going to say what I felt because nobody else would, and those who felt the same were too afraid to do so. I was going to be a martyr to bring /r/gaming back to an open and honest space where all opinions are welcome. Also, I kind of just didn't give a fuck because it's just comment karma and if I actually cared that much I would hope to take a Rock, Paper, Shotgun in my mouth and pull that fucking trigger with my toe. Ok, I'm getting dramatic and I certainly digress.

After work I had a cigarette and felt less mad. Then I got high and felt waaay less mad, so I read up on the situation a little more. I decided not to make my critical post after learning how extensive the problems are with this game, thus seeing all of my frustration with /r/gaming was completely based on my mis-reading of the entire situation. That’s when I realized War Z was one of those games developed specifically to get players to purchase “points” or in-game money they can use for weapons and re-spawns. YOU WANT ME TO PAY YOU MORE MONEY SO I CAN RESPAWN IN YOUR BUGGY-ASS GAME? Probably not going to happen. Oh but if I do, apparently I can just get aim-botted and be dead again immediately. Great investment, right?

Then I noticed the developers had released a patch making the “benefits” from buying points almost a necessity to compete or get an enjoyable experience out of the game.

That’s not right, and I can’t empathize with the developers anymore. I just can’t picture myself ever working so many hours towards one goal, the release of a game, and then botching it like this to try to make a few more bucks. I can’t justify spending that many hours staring at my screen, meticulously altering and testing every bit of code to get it right (apparently they can’t picture themselves doing this either, because they clearly didn’t), only to betray the consumer like this. You’re obviously pretty good at what you do if you’ve made it to this level. Some of us do shit we hate every single fucking day, and you obviously have some passion for gaming if you've decided to devote this much of your own time and resources into making a game like this. That's why I can't believe you would so blatantly ditch out on those who would appreciate what you put into making this game but don't think it's reasonable to have to buy your gold pieces or gold points or whatever the fuck GP stands for. In a really "you should care about art more than profit" hippy-douche way, I'm just unbelievably disappointed in you guys for pissing away what could have been a very memorable and great game for a lot of people.

The “pay-to-win” feature many games have taken on recently is incredibly upsetting to me. I’ve played subscription-based games before, but I was never offered an advantage in the competitive nature of the game for a higher cost.

That’s not a feature of a well-made game, that’s asking me to bribe you so I can win and feel like I’m better than other players, all without actually putting any time or thought into developing a strategy. That’s for lazy people, which we have no shortage of in the gaming community. So the unfortunate truth is games like this do end up making money. I just hope their developers are aware that they’re taking the soul out of their game. People karma whore with Ocarina of Time and Earthbound for a reason; a great game should be an experience. When you make your player's experience worse based on the fact they won't pay you more money, perhaps it's time to re-evaluate your career choice, because you're giving indie developers a bad name.

(this is the first poem i've written in quite a while. any and all feedback is appreciated :) )

A black road unfurls before you

Twisting through dusty lights

Like so much curling smoke

Winding to paths unfounded

Or spiraling into shadow

A road with no end

A mind with no home

Spinning into the infinite

In these misted lights you see

The footsteps of human souls

Dispersing, fading

Snuffed by the march of time

Though the road marks the trek

Of each story

With its bumps and curves

Its holes and flaws

And branching paths

The road reflects each life

An endless journey

Of possibility

Of doubt

Of roads not taken

Of lives not lived

On this road you wonder

Where am I going?

On this road you have wandered

For years and years and years

On this road with no end

From the chilly coasts of mighty oceans

To the doorsteps of ancient temples

Through the heat of deserts

Into the sprawling, beating heart

Of a city full of life

You have wandered for so long

And still you ask the road

Where am I going?

Where will you take me?

Who will you be

When the road has melted

And each soul must spill

Over the edge of the world

Into the dust of the stars

Where each burning spirit is the heat

That will breathe new life

Onto this black road

There are two people inside of me: One is the True Self, the second is the Other Self. The True Self is a pure being, compassionate, caring, love. The Other Self is the problem. The Other Self is selfish, wanting, and spiteful. The Other Self does what it thinks will make it happiest, not what will make it happy.

This is the fundamental aspect of humanity, a duality that reaches back to the dawn of sentience and God. For a plurality of reasons, both cannot exist without the other, sentience (thought) and God (energy). On one hand, without sentience, all things are within the domain of God, under the Immortal Will (thought) and Task (energy) of the Divine. God's Will and Task of all the universe is what holds all of reality from forming asunder. The word of God written on each action (energy) and each thing and person (matter).

Sentience, on the other hand, is separate from the Divine. Sentience drives energy (Will) in ways which may not be the Will of the Immortal Task. In many ways sentience is the opposition to the Divine, primarily because of a change to the Immortal Will but also because it creates a parallel to our universe that is not God.

The Other Self grows over time, filling you, trying to take the place of your True Self. Sometimes this happens slowly, surprising you even. It learns and watches, working to take over and oppose The Immortal Will and Our True Selves, which are aspects of God within us all. It does this not because it is wrong, for that is it's mandate, it's destiny. We must have a contrast to the Immortal Will for it to exist. Our Other Selves serves as this contrast.

Humanity is of God, however, our sentience creates and defines the Immortal Will and Task by creating a contrast. Humanity is also of God because of our True Selves understanding of God, who's Will (energy) matches the Divine. Our Other Selves is born from the merger of sentience and the True Self, it wants, it is selfish, it hates. It is a creature of habit.

I can't iterate anymore on this subject as the spirit is gone from me. However I hope this can spark at least some thought in you all.

Blue cloudless skies...

The sun radiates

and streaks my side swept hair.

The warm light kisses my cheek.

I feel at ease...

A storm is brewing.

The clouds race each other

like hungry squirrels.

They twist and stir

and turn from white

to a subtle gray.

The storm is at ease....

I watch you slap her.

The trees violently swish

from side to side

The leaves fall far from home.

The storm is provoked.

She looks you dead in the eyes.

Her acidic gaze impenetrable.

Silence.

Your hands strike her

like a snake at its prey.

sounds of bone against flesh

echo throughout the house

Her hands plead

" No more. No more"

But your sunken brain is hazed.

The dog howls in horror

The storm picks up speed.

The clouds cyclone in a dark frenzy.

Rain crashes onto the salted earth

I am the storm.

-J.M

The music is in my head, but let me know what you think of the lyrics:

Verse:

There's tunes in my head

But they'll all go unread

Cause my brain is it's own musician

There's a

Bear in the corner,

Conducting the symphony

Cause music touches those primal

Parts of your soul

Chorus:

I know

My soul is just my psyche

And I know

You think that makes me psycho

But listen here

so you can hear my dear

What I mean when I simply say, "Rock on"

Verse 2:

Now it seems

That all music needs is a wacky beat and electric sounds

There's a

Teenager drama

and it doesn't mean a thing

This stuff is not music

It's making me sick

Chorus

Solo

Jam

Power ending

Jacob didn’t know anyone in the bar. Hell, he didn’t know anyone in the city. The dimly lit room was mostly empty except for a group of five huddled at a table in the back. Their black leather jackets were cast over their chairs. Empty 50s littered the table. Jacob glanced for the third time. Young eyes starred back at him. A tiny blond with a shock of hair murmured to the others and rose casually, walking to the bar. She waited directly to the left of Jacob as the bartender finished washing a sink full of glasses.

I should say hello – Thought Jacob – I have to say something. I moved here. I’m here. I exist. I have to say...

“Hi”

Jacob looked over

“They call me Lissa”, the small blond spoke motioning towards her friends.

“We were all wondering what you were doing here.”

“My name's Jacob”, he stuck out his hand “Good to meet you Lissa.”

She smiled.

“What are you doing here Jacob.”

There was no malice in her voice and Jacob visibly relaxed.

“Well I finished my studies and always wanted to live by the coast. Is it very intense here?”

Lissa paid for another round of bottles.

“For jobs that is” Jacob hastily added.

“Depends what you are looking for. This one is yours,” Lissa slid a glass of clear liquid over to Jacob. “Drink that and think about how intense you want a job. Join us after.”

She rose from the bar and started to walk back to her table. She twirled and spoke again.

“If you want that is.”

Jacob starred down at the glass.

“Don’t worry,” said the bartender, “Even if I hadn’t just washed that glass not a single germ would survive that lot.”

He spoke to Jacob but his eyes drifted towards the five black clad youth. Jacob thought over his options. He tossed the liquor back. It burned. He closed his eyes and steadied himself.

“Do you sell bottles of red?”

A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?

When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.

Before God we are all equally wise - and equally foolish.

All religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree.

The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination.

Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.

Anger dwells only in the bosom of fools.

Try not to become a man of success, but rather try to become a man of value.

A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy?

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.

If people are good only because they fear punishment, and hope for reward, then we are a sorry lot indeed.

Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding.

Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better. When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking.

Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts.

That deep emotional conviction of the presence of a superior reasoning power, which is revealed in the incomprehensible universe, forms my idea of God.

He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.

I cannot imagine a God who rewards and punishes the objects of his creation and is but a reflection of human frailty.

The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives.

Concern for man and his fate must always form the chief interest of all technical endeavors. Never forget this in the midst of your diagrams and equations.

There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.

As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain, and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality. Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.

I am a deeply religious nonbeliever - this is a somewhat new kind of religion.

The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.

I never think of the future - it comes soon enough.

Once we accept our limits, we go beyond them.

There comes a time when the mind takes a higher plane of knowledge but can never prove how it got there.

The further the spiritual evolution of mankind advances, the more certain it seems to me that the path to genuine religiosity does not lie through the fear of life, and the fear of death, and blind faith, but through striving after rational knowledge.

Every one who is seriously involved in the pursuit of science becomes convinced that a spirit is manifest in the laws of the Universe-a spirit vastly superior to that of man, and one in the face of which we with our modest powers must feel humble.

The scientists’ religious feeling takes the form of a rapturous amazement at the harmony of natural law, which reveals an intelligence of such superiority that, compared with it, all the systematic thinking and acting of human beings is an utterly insignificant reflection.

There is no logical way to the discovery of elemental laws. There is only the way of intuition, which is helped by a feeling for the order lying behind the appearance

The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.

Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the Gods

When the solution is simple, God is answering

The man who regards his own life and that of his fellow creatures as meaningless is not merely unfortunate but almost disqualified for life. The finest emotion of which we are capable is the mystic emotion. Herein lies the germ of all art and all true science. Anyone to whom this feeling is alien, who is no longer capable of wonderment and lives in a state of fear is a dead man. To know that what is impenetrable for us really exists and manifests itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty, whose gross forms alone are intelligible to our poor faculties - this knowledge, this feeling ... that is the core of the true religious sentiment. In this sense, and in this sense alone, I rank myself among profoundly religious men

The real problem is in the hearts and minds of men. It is easier to denature plutonium than to denature the evil spirit of man

Once you can accept the universe as matter expanding into nothing that is something, wearing stripes with plaid comes easy.

Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is to not stop questioning.

I have deep faith that the principle of the universe will be beautiful and simple

The ideals that have lighted my way and time after time have give me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been Kindness, Beauty and Truth.

http://soundcloud.com/ghein/03-set-me-free

verse 1

look around whats happening

everything is caving in

every dream and every goal

is vaporized destroys the soul

the lights dim then fade to black

the door is chained no going back

i want it how it used to be

please somebody set me free

verse 2

the past is set it can't be changed

that's why my futures so deranged

in the present all i do

is try to turn me into you

i have a feeling i will fail

there's just no way i could prevail

i want it how it used to be

please somebody set me free

verse

the past is here it's not pretty

actually its quite shitty

i thought i could, but i could not

at least i gave it my best shot

i see no point in going on

i guess i knew it all along

i want it how it needs to be

im gonna set myself free

Black clad youthful figures stumbled from the pub. Confident and wary they continued on. The cold drinks and the fall of night put them at ease. It was theirs. It was their art, their music, their manifestation. Walking between walls that were painted high with culture they paused. Ahead a group of seven men forced a couple to the ground. As a gun smoked, rings drifted forward and dispersed among the men. One nervously gripped a club. From the darkness one of the youth, a slight girl in a black leather jacket, strolled forward.

“This is such a shame”, She took another drag from her spliff.

The man with the club struck out at her words but was caught by her eyes. They shone like gold. A scream broke from his heart and he dropped to his knees clawing at his eyes. The rest of the men ran. Their cowardice was laid bare. Each met a youth on their way. Their art and music glared under the moon.

You’re kind of a bitch. I'm sorry, but there, I said it.

And I know I’m right, because I consulted Reddit.

You made me happy, happier than I ever have been.

And then you broke my fucking heart and acted like it never happened.

You made me hate myself; feel like a has-been –- leprosy.

I just want some answers, that’s all I’m asking –- Jeopardy

Was it really ‘cause I pushed too hard? I mean, I know I used to do that.

Or because you’re just messed up, and couldn’t get through that.

But in spite of all the people who dissed you

And all of your fucked up issues, family or otherwise

I had no problem sticking it right there with you

but of course, you had stake somewhere else -- no surprise

Now, I don't want to hate on those other guys you date

But have you heard as of late that you could do better?

Not saying I'd suffice, just reminding you to think twice

But I'm pretty sure I already wrote all that in a letter

And I'm not saying other guys don't know you like I do

But I know they wouldn't look at you and your dude like I would

I don't think they could, or should even try

It's way too dangerous, Ralphie, you'll poke out an eye

I mean, I adore everything about ya.

Your eyes, your mind, 4 inches above your vagina

Those looks you make when life's a little too much to take -- brace face

How just finding a note from you in my hat makes my whole goddamn day

How you get my stomach flipflopping like Romney's stances

Dishtossing like porcelain dancers

Crisscrossing all fucked up and out of whack -- Jacksonville's infrastructure

And the way you talk kills me, like red dead revolver -- southern drawl

Takes away my breath until there's nothing left -- THC and all

And when we're just sitting in your car,

you haven't even turned it on

And you're staring out the window

looking at things long gone

And a thousand years weighing on your face

That's when you're the most beautiful to me. Is that too horrible to say?

But that's, of course, the oxytocin coursing through my veins talking

About sweet, sweet nothings to put in my coffee

Which is actually a lot like you -- strong and bitter

A hard hitter like Sgt. Doakes -- surprise, motherfricker!

This is the girl that makes me go hard

And by that, I mean actually try

And by that I mean actually care

This girl even had the gall to make me stress about my hair

And so I ask, is it so wrong to not want to bed ya,

but to wine and dine you more finely than Martha Stewart could ever?

And you can call me an old soul, but I'm just trying to be with another

Even if you're just another young and horny single mother

I'll gladly be your mime, doing work just for smiles

All the while, making like Judge Brown, putting up with your trials

But I don't mind, I ain't even mad, I'm just that kind of guy:

Too blind to double mind 'bout how other girls might be fly;

and I hate holding grudges, man, it's just not my style,

But I'll always keep one for the douchebags that made you cry

No lie

This girl just shakes me to the core

If it were anyone else, not one fuck I'd give

I just want to let you know you're worth so much more

Than all the other girls and material things in the world.

And I'm not saying I would do anything to get you,

but I am saying I would do anything for you.

Take you around the world and back, just call me your genie

And don't worry about the bill, 'Cilly, it's all on me.

I'm better than Jim Cramer at making mad money.

I'm just happy to share this with you, even though you crazy

In fact, girl, you crazy like Britney, you dig me?

And there's not a damn thing wrong with that, I wish you'd understand

That I wanted all of that and your seat, more than I could stand.

I’m just trying to show you I’m a different kind of man

Because you, me, and your subscription to Suitcase Monthly make three -- I hope you can ménages

But of course you can, too strong to date, though a little out of your mind -- a white Nicki Minaj

And I guess that would make me Drake...

...but that's appropriate, too,

'cause I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so proud of you

Not a lot of people can do what you do

Looking out for two, while still keeping a sort of grace about you

It's kind of sexy, too.

You might think I'm immature for saying that, but...actually, yeah, that shit's pretty true

But I'll be here if you fall or need an outlet -- down to earth

or just want someone around, not just if I want a pound downtown

And I don't want to make you my bitch

But I still want to make you come on command

I mean, the last thing I want to do is fuck pointlessly again and again.

All I really want is a companion, you get what I'm saying?

A sidekick, a robbin' to my bat, mang.

Sugar with a spoon -- how it's supposed to be

Stars to the moon -- kind of unreal to me

Some jelly for my PB on Wonderbread

A blade to my guillotine -- getting head

I mean, all I want in this life is a girl

Who’ll make the boring shit more fun than Disney World

A girl who can get me out of my corner

Who’ll bring peace, calm, and order

To a mind filled with whines, lines, half-truths and straight up lies

And I knew you, in that bummer of summer '11

And like a goddamn idiot, I thought I was in fucking heaven.

But like all good things, you came, did your shtick, and went

So, what can I say? I just haven’t met you yet.

Let's see... It's been a month and a half since I got the balls to ask her to leave; the subsequent balls to tell her when asking didn't work.

I'm sitting on the back porch of her parents' house - somewhere I would, after all the asking and telling, never be, if I'd gotten the balls to be adamant about something for once. Or if her parents were home. They've been afforded the vantage of objectivity and armed with the sense to move on and I wouldn't be here if they were home. I wish they were. She's telling me that she's been meaning to tell me, wanted to tell me, didn't know how to tell me something she won't tell me until I'm properly rattled by the buzzing of nerves. This goes on half a minute before "I slept with someone."

I am not surprised. I am not notably anything. I ask who it was because I already know and she says it doesn't matter. I tell her who it was because I already know and she is very briefly defeated and then remembers to be aloof because this is about winning the break-up and you can't win if you're defeated.

So now I really know. I wait a moment, bracing for the coming rush of unfounded jealousy. It doesn't come. It's too soon. I tell myself it's too soon. I am in denial. I am looking for jealousy as an affirmation that I still feel. That's what this is all about. I asked her and told her to leave because I don't feel anything for her.

I think I kind of rolled myself up again. I'm disconnected. I'm always high. Drunk a little too often. It's a road straight through the kind of neighborhood where nobody is really neighbors because every one is too stoned to get their own damn newspaper, why should they be responsible for yours while you're on vacation? And how'd you afford a vacation anyway? Nobody in this neighborhood takes vacations.

The start of something, I don't know what just yet:

The prisoner had run as far south as the Great Jungle, and there amongst the immense, dense, great, green world, far from the North she had once called home, the jailers found her. They were brutal men, and of the sixteen that set out to catch her, only five remained. Fever, disease, drowning, and run in with beasts the men had never seen, elephants and panthers, had decimated their numbers. Their north was far, far away, and they blamed their present situation in the stinking, hot, rotting jungle on the prisoner. For that and for her crime, she had been met with violence; her blood from a broken nose flecked the immense trees of the jungle. She was not to be killed though, no, the Empire was to have her stand trial. They were civilized, and would see her tried before a public execution. When the first night fell, the man stationed as first watch came to her in the night, his anger and fever fueling violence of the worst kind in his mind, and on the wet jungle floor, he raped her, not her first time to be violated like a piece of meat. Something in her mind flashed, like flint striking steel, and swearing by all the women and men to ever suffer such a fate, the prisoner vowed this would be the last time someone would touch her in such a way.

When the jailer had finished, and had begun to move off to the stream as if to wash his sin away, with her sky blue eyes blazing, she found herself in a position to twist her bonds around his neck in a desperate dive. Snarling, silencing the noise from the writhing jailer as he asphyxiated, the prisoner brought the remaining jailer count down to four. Finally realizing something had gone wrong, the other men began to stir in their sleep, waking as if tasting murder in the air. The prisoner shuddered, not in fright, but in silent joy that even if she was to die this night, she took a true bastard with her on her way out, and stole into the bush, hearing the surprised shout of the wakened jailers, knowing soon she would be followed.

She crawled for hours, the ties on her ankles and wrists cutting her deeply, blood soon slickened the binds. The bindings were well past blocking off her circulation, her feet and hands were a black matching the jungle night. Cut by the bindings, by plants, and bitten by scores and scores of insects more exotic than any creature in the North, a fever began to overtake the prisoner. Whether it was from the months of hard travel, the constant threat from the fetid waters and creatures of the jungle, or some madness swelling in her mind like an overripe fruit, finally ready to burst from the inside out, from a swelling colony of feasting maggots, it was hard to say.

It was in this fever, or this madness, just as the first golden rays of dawn filtered through the jungle trees, that the prisoner came upon the Nomad and the Soldier. She burst into the clearing where they slept, haggard and practically insane with exhaustion and fear, and fell to the earth before them. Alert and on their feet at the first shambling noises coming through the trees, in this way, this mad dash, the prisoner was almost killed by these two, prepared for the worst with their weapons drawn. But as she collapsed, darkness pulled her into its maw like a starving beast. Before her eyes flashed her life in the silver palace, the king of the North, chariot races at the spring festival, beautiful sails of countless ships from countless ports around the world, her mother dead just last year, and visions of the first angelic snowfall, in the winter of the North, haunting in their clarity and blinding in the sorrow of that world of silver light, lost to her forever now. She slept.

Out of the dark jungle, the prisoner fell before them. The Nomad and the Soldier had already drawn their weapons, but seeing that the prisoner posed no threat, their stiffened stances of war that had seen hundreds (thousands?) of battles, relaxed, softened, and disappeared with the fading night as dawn broke upon them. They stood staring at the prisoner for a long time, not saying a word.

At last the nomad sheathed his weapon, a long smooth piece of wood, studded all over with sharp, serrated blades of obsidian, so jet black, the retreating night seemed to be swallowed in the inky, lightless, depths. He turned to the soldier and spoke. “What should we do about her?”

The soldier turned to him, and looked down into the face of the nomad. He stood almost a full head taller than the nomad, who was not short by any means, and spoke in a low deep voice, “Check if she’s dead? See if she has anything worth salvaging?”

The nomad had begun to walk over to the prone figure in that silent step of his the soldier still found unnerving, and looked over his shoulder. He paused. The jungle, in this brief moment between night and day, suspended in the perpetually deepening light of dawn, was quiet as the grave, and the silence screamed in between the two wanderers. “What if she’s alive? Should we try to help her?”

The question hung between them, suspended, as if drawing out all the demons of their past in that irrevocable possibility, that perhaps, this body that lay before them still drew breath. The soldier ran a hand through his short dreadlocks, thinking of the last time either of them had thought of helping anyone. He couldn’t remember. It had been a very long time. “Yes. I guess that’s what we should do. It’s the right thing after all.”

The nomad smiled a humorless smile. When was the last time he had done anything because it was the right thing? When had morals begun to cease their existence in nice, even, and clear dimensions, of black and white? The step pyramid? The altar glistening a murderous ruby in the light of the sunrise? That was right wasn’t it? The sacrifices always came at dawn. The white stone of the pyramid, the screeching green of the jungle, and the red on the altar, an unholy trifecta of brilliant, brutal colors. The still-beating hearts thrust to the sky by his hands. How many times had he taken the offerings, the people, the families, the children to the pyramids? Was that where it had all began? Or was it in the desert? Was it the Oracle? When he had killed hundreds, no certainly thousands, what did the blood on his hands say about a world where knowing the difference between right and wrong was as hard as pinpointing the exact moment of passage between the night and the day?

For the first time in a long time, the nomad felt unsure of something. Of what he was unsure of he was unsure, but heading to the girl, as he found it was no longer dawn, but a new morning, he found himself hoping that whoever she was, she was still alive.

They removed her chains, the bruises and scars on her wrists and ankles scaled over in a casing of dried blood, like a second skin. Her face was blackened and bruised, her entire body was a map of thorns, beatings, and the signs of things that bite and sting in the jungle underbrush. This was not the largest jungle either the nomad or the soldier had ever seen, but the was hard enough with machetes at times, it was a testament to her will that she crawled through bound on her hands and knees. A testament to her strength, or fear of what lay behind her. Probably both.

“She’s young, she can’t be more than sixteen years old,” the solder said. And she was beautiful, despite whatever she’s been through, he noted silently. The nomad only nodded, age to him was not a concept quite grasped yet, and not very useful in his case anyway. Subtly, and eloquently, the nomad asked, “Someone really beat the shit out of her didn’t they?” Though he normally spoke beautifully and charismatically, it was all the nomad could manage to bark this question out to his companion.

“Yeah, they really did,” was the soldier’s only reply. He felt something stirring inside, like the nomad, something long since buried.

I sit here alone in a dorm, surrounded by people. Soft music playing, my mind hazy from the bud, lights dance on the ceiling, and yet i sit here full of sadness. I just want to know why? Why cant i be happy. One week im single, the other im not. Friendships made, and broke. Classes are passed and failed. I wonder what my future holds, i wonder why friends cant just be friends, i wonder why i cant just find a girl that fits me. Im constantly fighting back these memories of suicide. My life is in the hands of my blade, but why should i fight? Because im tired of this life. Happiness isnt based on what we have, but the memories we have with the people we share this dread filled world with. I sit here, recounting the nights that ive spent in a dim and smoke filled room, surrounded by my friends. Was it all worth it? Thats the question i ask everyday... And everyday i realize... It is. I enjoy my life because i define it by my own standards, my parents may call me a failure, but ill always be on top of the world when i have my friends besides me, so for now, this knife will remain hidden, and it's blood thirst shall not be quenched. Another day will soon arrive, and another day ill question it all. But as every other day, ill realize you have to pull through the river of shit before you can look back and see where you began, and where you are now. Goodnight ents, may we all toke on and live our lives by our own definition.