Lost In The Void . . . . . . . . .

My travels have been hindered as well as my documentation due to an unexpected stay in the nameless timeless void of incomprehensible neutrality. I have just been, purely and simply. No particular joy, or dispair, just exsisting. It is tiresome and lonely, and I have no control over how, when, or why I end up here. Hopefully I will find my way out soon. Hopfully . . .

Immutable Nature . . . . . .

This thing, all things devours;
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel, and grinds hard bones to meal;
Slays kings, ruins towns, adn brings high mountains down.

To anyone who understands this, that is the basis of my thoughts.

No One Can Hear You Scream . . . . . .

I have so many things going through my head and none of them are important. It's amazing how empty an exsistence can be when it all feels useless. Not to say that I myself am feeling useless, but my exsistence itself is useless. I'm not entirely sure how it is that I feel like this or how to stop it, but thats how it is. I feel like I'm stuck in the very void of space, screaming my very lungs out, and no one can hear it. I just hope there is nothing waiting for me within that void.

WORDS OF WISDOM: You can pick your friends, You can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friend's nose.

Circe And Charybdis...........

The siren calls and every part of me aches to succumb. I don't know if she is aware of this but she drives my soul beyond the edges of the world. The problem is that while she is Circe, her soul is Charybdis, looking to swallow me whole. The truth of it all is that I fly willingly into that danger, caring little if I come out again, but she can never know. She gives me peace and pirpose, but she can never know. The embers of my dying fire burst into new flame at her touch, but she can never know. I don't even have to fortitude to tell her that there are things she can never know. How can I possibly survive this when I can't even tell the person that is centrally INVOLVED in my disposition the she IS involved. Fate is cruel, as is my mistress, but she can never know.

Captain's Log...........

It would seem that my previous posts appear to be a tad dark and dramatic. I do not intend it to be this way, I simply write what is on my mind.

However, I will make every attempt to to be more bright and sunshine-y in future posts. I don't like the sound of that, but I am not some gothically dark character in the cosmic play of life. I would like if I were such a person, but I don't know why. Being warm and happy just seems like a waste of energy with the current state of things, but I guess by being brighter I can in turn make my portion of the world brighter. Who knows? All I know is that the image in my head of myself as the weathered old adventurer has chased the Great Stag, battled the Death Worm, communed with fairies, sailed with pirates, and even faced of with the mighty Kraken, and none of it brought me lasting happiness.

P.S. : this is COMPLETELY out of my intended style but all of those creatures are "monsters" I've battled, except they are really alcohol, which I've tried hiding behind at times.

Live long and prosper.........

Today I find myself vexed by the frailty of the human condition. A person in my life died this past Friday, and it bothers me that it doesn't bother me. The person was not related to me, not a close friend, but I still feel like his passing should phase me more than it does. On some basic level the generalized tragedy of the end of one who had a whole life in front of them should effect me, but it doesn't. This is just one of many realizations I've made in the last week. I got to spend time with two fellow adventures from times past, and I realized that my frail humanity CAN NOT handle traveling through time and space with these two. We have crossed paths before, and they are able companions, but that time is beyond me.

It is a sad tale, my one true regret. But every adventurer needs motivation to travel throughout the cosmos, and she is mine. She can never know that she drives me on, partially because she won't believe it. Thus my vexation of the human condition. Any small thing can cease us to be, any emotional response we have can destroy us utterly, but we continue to find new ways to hurt ourselves. For the love of the gods we as a species have gone so far as to create diseases that we can neither control nor cure, simply because we can.

But I digress. This last minor foray into the wider world has shown me the futility of my being, such as it is. I have let the softness of being human interfere with the ability of my mind to find happiness. I have divulged my being in it's quest for companionship and lost myself somewhere along the way. She has my heart, locked in a box, and there it must stay. By giving her this I have found how to exsist without the futility of attachment. She has my heart and all of it's failings, and I may keep the stronger pieces of my being, remaining detached from those around me, providing it is not her that is near. Of course I will find any excuse to bring myself near to her, feel that tremendous pain that levels me completely for weeks on end, but it is a lonely life. It is that pain that will one day cease, and I will attain that which I strive for.

The cosmos open wide before my eyes, but in my chest is the blackest of holes, devouring all in it's path. Still I sit watching the night sky, and I fear I may need to leave my fire side soon, for my tales grow stale and useless........

Shallow thoughts from the depth of the mind........

So definitely not feeling my usual deep and complicated amount of thought. My personal woes are weighing me down, and the worst of them are avoidable so it bothers me more than it should. If anyone ever reads this, and happens to feel let down by the short meaningless post, my apologies. So concludes another story from the Time Traveler. Next up, Pigs In SPACE!!!!!!!!!!

Solitude.....

If words have power, then this word is the single most powerful ever created. It can evoke any of a number of emotions, from blind terror to quiet bliss. It creates images of warm baths, padded cells, dank tombs, and a nameless lightless abyss. How is it that this is possible? Solitude can be viewed as those quiet moments when our fast paced lives finally allow us a break, so we can enjoy the peace and tranquility. It can also be that darker place, where endless moment bleed into endless hours and meld into eternity. It is dark, dank, claustrophibically terrifying, leaving the sturdiest of souls mewling like tortured kittens. But in this day and age, where technology links every able body on the planet together, how can solitude exist? The reality is that as our technology advances, we thrust ourselves deeper and deeper into solitude. Worse still, nothing can stop it. We as a species will do everything in our power to be connected to the whole world, and in doing so we will never be more seperated. We will achieve perfect solitude.

The strangest thing about solitude is that it knows no bounds. Heroes and villains share one constant: Solitude. The hero inevitably has to face the final show down with no one but himself on his side, his friends and allies having fled or been killed. And as the villain faces the hero, his minions have all been killed or run off, leaving him with no one left to hide behind. Whichever side they are on, solitude is their fate. They take up their swords, guns. phasers, etc. and embark on a mission to give their solitude meaning. Even religion exists to keep us from aknowledging the fact that death is the final solitude. I believe in a here after, not in an inherently christian sense, but I believe in one.

But no matter what the end of my existence might bring, I know that one thing will remain the same from now until my final breath and beyond. I will be alone.

White Horse, Will Travel........

So as I drove into work today, I realized somethings about myself and fairytales. I love to think of myself as the hero, shining armor, snow white charger snorting as I rush head-long into danger, killing dragons, trolls, ogres, giants, and any other beast in my way as I rescue the damsel in distress. And what woman doesn't openly or secretly crave for Prince Charming to come in and save the day? And all of the stories always end in,"And they lived happily ever after....." But what happens after those dots? I figured it out. Sadly, the reason "Prince Charming" is the universal hero is because he never stays with his princess. Once the monster is slain and the princess is safe, he takes her home and makes sure she is comfy, maybe steals a kiss or a little more, but he always rides off looking for the next pretty face surrounded by insurmountable danger. And thats where I find myself. Riding around the countryside, looking for the next sacrificial alter, abandoned keep, what have you. One of these days my horse will grow tired, my armor stained and heavy and I'll finally stay at home.

But I'm curious: is it the pretty new faces, exotic new lands, or impossible odds that drag me back out into the dark? My soul burns for adventure, and I find more and more it is actually the monsters that entice me more than the princesses. And what becomes of me when I run out of monsters? Do I create new ones, charging recklessly at windmills like Don Quixote? Or will I be fortunate enough to either meet my end at the claws and fangs I seek out tirelessly? Better yet, will I one day realize that I can save the damsel and actually stay put? Teach my heirs to pursue the dangers and rewards of adventuring, and spend my twilight years comfortable and happy. This brings me back to my last post, rolling my tankard in my weathered twisted hands, my grey beard twitching in the night air as i stare, teary eyed into the flames before me, remembering times gone by.

My only hope is that no matter what, I leave a lasting impression behind me, worthy of the bards for eons to come.

The voyage begins......

Just beggining to realize that I may in fact have been born in the wrong time period. As I sat in my car driving two friends home, I realized that I belong in front of a camp fire, in the center of some medieval village, my face and hands grizzled and scarred, telling children of the horrors real and supernatural I've faced, my adventures regalling old and young alike. Unfortunately I was born a few centuries late and like everything else I just have to deal.

I guess thats the real focus of this whole thing: having to deal. Everyday I find things to remind me that I've made my bed and now I have to lie in it. However, the bed I've made is neither warm nor comfortable, and I know I could do better. So how do you deal when you realize that the choices you made were stupid, and choices you keep making are stupid, and you hate where you've ended up? All I want is to rest my weary bones in front of that nice big fire, drink deep from my tankard and roll it in my gnarled hands, watching the children ushered home by their parents, leaving grissled old dogs like myself to sit watching the embers, remembering times gone by.