Chaos. I suppose that's where this story begins and ends. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed chaos. Of not quite knowing how the story ends. It's something about me, something immutable, something unchanging, my desire for chaos. It is undoubtedly why I am fascinated by tactical games, which force one to manipulate chance. Perhaps too it is the root of my tendency to enjoy AI programming since it often gives such unexpected results. It is a form of creation that is almost non-sensical, a form of building which relies on manipulation of the abstract and the intangible as much as it does on knowledge and mathmatics. There is something interesting there and, perhaps, shows an area for discovery.

I think, perhaps, what bothers me the most is that even passively I am blamed. I haven't had much to do recently, the renovations in my basement have left we even without a desk, much less a table on which I could deploy models or a couch to play computer games. So largely for the last month or so I haven't bothered call anyone because it is rude to invite yourself over and I have no ability to extend such invitations. And then work began and life has been a little bit hectic with occasionaly quiet parts and slowly the depression sinks in when you realize that your friends don't phone you and life goes on I suppose. I'm playing DnD with the Head Clerk and Red and Avatar's still around (though you wouldn't know it, though maybe I can convince him to come over this weekend now that I have couches again) and for the first time in a long time I'm relaxed with the people I'm spending time with. I don't have to worry about how I act or how I appear or whether I forget to reply to Red (though I should avoid doing that and probably be more organized there in general). I think it's kinda neat that Kel is having his birthday at the Blarney Stone and he wants me to go and even though i don't know if I will or not I know that no matter what I choose it won't change what he thinks of me. Maybe that's the biggest thing for me, that I don't feel any pressure to perform or appear. That I can just be around and do what I feel like and no one will think less of me. I like these guys and its nice to have friends who go out a little bit and stay home a little bit and know similar songs and similar games and similar shows and who I can just hang out with.

I don't really know what the bottom line is here. I'm tired of Mr.Freeem feeling like I'm out to get him. Tired of one minute being fine with Britts and do what I want and next under fire and blamed. Apparently I can ignore him for a month (as stated above, I haven't phoned anyone for a while since I have had neither time nor location) and immediately become Britts most hated enemy and his least trusted friend just that easily. I'm sick of hearing about Mr.Medieval blaming me (for fucks sakes, I fucking asked him. And he said no. And Mr.Freeem says i need to understand undercurrents and people and what goes unsaid. Have you met me? How much skill do I have for fucking people?) for things that happened years ago. But whatever. Maybe the line is something like he looks back and has to blame failure on something other then himself. Or maybe he regrets saying no and has glossed over it, as we are want to do in remembrance. Or maybe he honestly believed I understood people. I don't really know. I care, I would like to know, but I doubt I will ever find an honest answer. I think maybe its a shame here that I can honestly say I will probably miss Mr.Nintendo more, or even French, because at least I knew where I stood with them. At least French tried to go out and live, even if he couldn't find anyone else to do it with. And to him I would say that I would go with him, because it's worth going out and looking around, even if you don't find anything. And to Mr.Nintendo I would say that at least he knew what he wanted in life and knew what would make him happy, even if it never did make sense to the rest of us. At least he knew how he wanted his story to end. And he knew too that a little chaos never hurt.

I don't know. I guess I'm just tired of second guessing myself. How every action will be angrily turned against me. I'm sick of hearing I was rude to Britts because I was doing math in my head and trying to manage a bloody game of DnD and said something like sure, create a character, because I honestly didn't care if she played or not but was focused on what I was currently doing. And clearly the correct reaction was to immediatly stop the game and assist her in character creation rather then wait for a natural break (I hope you can all still detect sarcasm). And perhaps the astute among you will say things like "but didn't you point this out", or "there must be more to this story". And I did point these things out. And perhaps there is more to this story. But when someone is construed against you they rarely listen to a reasoned argument and i can only understand the story from my own point of view. And we will have to accept that it is unlikely i will be able to accurately predict why anyone does anything. But this perhaps, is where the problem lies. When you give reasoned arguments and then your friends say no, you're wrong and give as weak of replies as you gave them. The Lady is right, in some sense, that often such communication made me more depressed then it helped, made it even less likely that something would be repaired then it was before. And so she go angry and it became about bullying and forcing and name calling which really made little sense but then most of this has made little sense. Much of it is just little details, thrown together like matches and then lit to create a blaze more powerful then the sum of its fuel.

However, this is relatively pointless. I could analyze every detail and point out how the Lady's actions are almost always reactionary, could point out that really Mr.Freeem does not make a strong case for himself by pitching that she was once good but now she is terribly and forcing the world. I think, perhaps, I may have left, for it wouldn't be the first time I considered leaving The Lady, but careful thought very happily prevailed. He tends to be over the top, which is his undoing, and perhaps that really is the difficulty in all this. I could say that I do miss Britts, sometimes, when the world is confused, when perhaps just a story about a different life where the world is still dark and grey could remind me that I am not the only one with pains. But perhaps there too lies some of the problem, where perhaps we are better off to read satire and fantasy and dream of brighter days. I strongly remember reading Platform 9 and a Half when I was depressed before, and dreaming of that island. And perhaps that helped with the depression more then any reminder that the world is a cold dark place. And I could say too, perhaps, that I miss sitting in that basement sometimes, playing video games and simply being. But that life is gone now, lost, and I can easily blame others but to some extent I can also blame myself for inactivity and lack of understanding.

So life goes on. Mr.Freeem will undoubtedly still be around, and I have a floor and tables again so he can come here if he wishes. I couldn't go to his house anyways, the Lady won't let me go without her, perhaps another spike which left alone could have festered, but something too that would never have happened with more thinking. And since he won't have anything to do with her it seemed unlikely that would ever happen. And so I will be okay, I think, with a bit of warhammer with Avatar and Mr.Freeem when he is around and fit enough to get to this house without a car. And there are other things to look forward to, like meeting Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman and DnD at Red's and soccer in the rain. And there is a nice desk with a macbook and a beautiful computer monitor on it where I can write scripts and code learning algorithms and write programs which create people to my hearts content.

I think that's it, really. I'm just sick of being blamed. So what if I made some bad decisions? Haven't we all. I'm sorry that you think that you can force everyone to get along and have a perfect group, but maybe we all need to look long and hard and what were doing and are actions.

I need some sleep, though I probably won't get any. It bothers me that I worry about taking the lady with me to DnD. We shall see, I suppose. We shall see. Goodnight

The Many Adventures of the Amazing Mr.Kent

I will be Spark Kent. Not because it is who I am, or who I want to be, but because it is who I must be. Because really, in the end, Ruan is so destroyed that he can really no longer handle reality. But i guess we all new that that would happen eventually. Because in reality the abilities to feel and care are nothing more then liabilities while the abilities to be forceful and resilient are godsends. Which just goes to show how fucked up society is I suppose.

I'll try and update more, but I'm sleeping poorly again so I'm pretty tired at night. We'll see how things go. Besides, I'm not nearly as depressed today as I was yesterday, or his morning. Just more resigned I guess.


(no subject)

I wish I was dead. But essentially that's pointless. That doesn't help. As a solution it is unpickable, for a variety of fairly intuitive reasons, so I won't bother go into them right now. Suffice it to say that I won't be dead tomorrow, as much as I hope I will. And to be blunt why should I hope I will be. What difference will it make. I may as well attempt to gain and exist on this plane a bit longer. Why not?

Perhaps blood would be a better solution. Then I might sleep, if nothing else. But I don't know if it will work. I have become numb to the pain in a sense. By the end it took to much to get the effect i needed to rest and work and I'm terrified I'll cut to deep. Which when you think about it is a touch pathetic, but it could happen.

What the hell happened to me? That is pathetic.

You know, I'm not going to say I was once a brave and cunning character. I'm not. I could probably be accurately described as occasionally irrational and conniving. After all I try hard, and for the most part follow my gut and instinct because a lot of the time it's all I have to go on. And see, there's an obvious problem with that. It's that relying on instinct alone gets you no where. Instinct is by nature a coward. Do whatever needs to be done to survive and damn the consequences. Well, I didn't say it was a good plan. It always worked for soccer though, didn't it? And programming.

I will say that maybe I need to wake up. I always found it interesting that Tzeentch is the god of Change. That change is the fourth evil, along with bloodlust, and regular lust and disease. Why not famine, which is usually the other horseman in this triumvirate. But now maybe it makes a bit more sense. It's the point when you say that as people change and things change chaos erupts and the question becomes, was the change worth it?

Well, was it?



No. No it wasn't. As Mr.Freeem so flawlessly pointed out tonight (though to be fair he didn't actually say this) it's that I lost the people I relied on in such matters. I was a good person because I asked. Because I worked out why people did things, and how, because I asked. I wasn't told. I made mistakes, we all do, but i attempted to atone for them, didn't I? And now I'm here, in the dark, and though I have friends and a girl friend I am perhaps more alone then I have ever been. Because the support is gone. Because I can't call Miss.Tiff tomorrow and ask her for an opinion, or text Miss.Britts and get her to yell at me until I understand how people work. Because I can no longer ask K from highschool or even my own mother because I have either driven these people away or come to doubt in them so much. And to be honest these people have good reasons for leaving. And I should have stopped them but I was blind and useless. The trick is to learn from such mistakes I suppose, though as I enter the third century of my life I doubt I will make many more friends to make such mistakes on. The problem, i suppose, is that the system balanced itself out. Everyone had a slightly different viewpoint and a slightly different perspective and now I really can only rely on the Lady, and if this blog is anything to go by her advice was rarely followed exactly. I forget that really Mr.Freeem or Avatar never comment on my social life because there like me, lost in the damn herds of sheep. And now I hate myself. Though that will pass. It usually does.

The problem is that I'm not going to make the correct desicions myself. But maybe I ought to be trying. Because asking for advice is clearly a poor plan. Mr.Freeem is right. I've become to arrogant. And maybe I can blame the counsellors and the depression and the fact that I hated myself and everyone said, don't hate yourself your wonderful. Fuck them. I'm not wonderful. That's the problem. Being told by everyone who doesn't see the whole fucking picture or only sees what they want to see that I'm wonderful. That I'm perfect. That there fucking children ought to be more like me.


The problem, really, is that I like to be good at what I do. I take pride in what I do, and I take pride at being the best at it. I'm competitive. Everyone knows that. And I see life as a competition. So I end up the best at things because I want to be the best at things. And there's nothing wrong with that. Or maybe there is. Maybe I should just relax and lie down and let the world roll me. Which seems pointless to me. What's the point in living if I don't try.

Of Course, maybe the answer is to do stuff like go to burning man or see Greece or Rome. Or maybe it's to go sailing or surfing or compete in a national tournament. And maybe the point is I can't really see that stuff anymore. I can see myself getting a job, and working at a desk, and being the best damn programmer until I buy the farmhouse at 40. And that'll be my life. And what was the point of that?

I need to wake up, I think. Start defending those who need defending and fighting those who need to be fought. I need to go back a bit and start over because Mr.Freeem is right. The person I am becoming isn't really who I am. The person I am becoming is someone backed into a corner, trying to find a light, scared of my own shadow. Now that's pathetic. Goodnight


It's kinda sad that I can look back through my writings and only now realize how pathetic I have become I how hard I tried to stop it from happening. And now I have simply given up. Fuck, I hate myself. I should have taken my life when I had the chance.


I feel like shit. It’s been a while since I haven’t been depressed. I haven’t been writing. Not for a long time. I’m trying to sleep now. I have to get up early and go to work and exist somehow. Though even that fails because I’m barely awake enough to function, let alone solve vector equations and work out reflectance properties and particle systems. I barely sleep anymore. I wake up usually around 6, panicked and terrified of some unseen horror in my sleep. I fall back to bed and rest a while, fall back into fitful slumber, perhaps to be awakened by my dog at 6:30, or, more likely, my alarm at 7. I usually can’t fall asleep at night until well past midnight, until I’m so tired I can’t think anymore and when I close my eyes they burn themselves shut to keep me from opening them again.

I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what would help. I wish I felt appreciated instead of used, which I felt wanted instead of desired. Just generally. My boss telling me I will go on to big things while I fail to write a simple graphics API. IGA calling me and asking me when I’ll be back. It’s hard to feel like I’m doing anything but going in circles lately. To tired to function well enough to pull myself back, and all the old solutions are gone. The paint, as they say, is all dried up and crumbling and now I must steal halves of hours to slowly piece together models so that I might conceivably be able to play warhammer in the near future, though that hasn’t happened for several weeks.

Perhaps that’s what it is. Simply a lack of playing something relaxing. Or being allowed to at any rate. Tonight could have been good, with Mr. Freeem pretending to a robot and me the researcher. Perhaps for a moment I could forget that I don’t know what I’m doing at work and loathe going back to school and wish that I could disappear like my Dad or my Uncle did when they were my age. Wish I could just drive away from it all and see the damn world. That’s what this scholarly life misses. Stuck here as a student, slowly dying while I work hard, because that’s what society says one should do, and your parents say you should do and never mind life. Not really. It’s only life. What about the future?

What kind of a future is it if there are no memories of the past?

It’s so hard to make myself care now. It’s just been beaten out of me. Don’t get me wrong, I love the girl, but it’s hard to feel bad when she’s always there and then screams at you when she’s not. It’s nice to have evenings in peace but people don’t understand that. Not really. People claim there loners but wish they had friends, wish they were going out or that there was someone there with them. And even I wish for those things sometimes. But you know you’re a loner when you wish that there was no one, that you were by yourself and everything was quiet and still and you can hear your thoughts whir in your head. You’re a loner when you sit for hours by yourself not because you have nothing do to or because no one is free but because you want to, because sitting there like that is better then going out.

It sounds kinda sad when you write it down, doesn’t it? But at least its true.

It’s hard to make myself care now. If someone punished you every time you did something eventually you would become accustomed to the punishment. You simply accept it as a part of life and move on. If every time you saw someone they asked you to do something you couldn’t do, and then asked for it when they really did need it, would you still feel? Or would you be numb to there pleading? It’s the story of the boy who cried wolf, if you all know that reference. Things that once stir a person to action soon just become irritating if done over and over and over to force a reaction. The negative answer becomes easier and easier and easier until you don’t care. Pathetic really.

Tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll have to mend what I’ve done somehow. Mend the fact that I made plans and went out and got to enjoy myself with my friends and was screamed at because of it. That the girl hurt herself because of me, because I won’t go out and leave my friends instead of getting to spend a small amount of time with them. Not that I won’t see the girl more, or take her out to dinner more, or spend more time with her. I wish perhaps, that we were dating instead maybe, that twice a week I got to see her and we watched movies or tv or hung out and had a nice dinner and went to a show or skating or shopping or something like that. But perhaps that is just more idol dreams of a romanticized relationship. Perhaps all relationships are like this and I just don’t know, having little experience in matters like this. Perhaps love, so artfully crafted by poetry and prose and moving picture, is simply more akin to frustration and anger and self loathing then I would like to believe. Perhaps something that marvels people by how it changes them is simply another knife, used to dull the pain of existence until the grey fog of stagecraft lies heavily over everything.

With school looming on the horizon, I will probably write more, so perhaps stay tuned. We shall see what the future brings. You who have faithfully followed know perfectly well my contempt for the idiocy of this time of year, yet this year I’m looking strangely forward to it. Perhaps I see it as a bit of a break, a rest of a different sort, not of the kind in which muscles heal but perhaps a rest where the mind might heal, or at least be given a reprieve from the colorless world surrounding it. Goodnight.


Perhaps the line is, really, that no one will ever give there opinion truthfully. People will always either lie to you or insult you, and there trustworthiness is so lost in this that it is no wonder no one really trusts one another. It would be nice to hear the truth for once, to have an opinion beyond my own, but such information is so few and far between. I wish I could see how people percieve me, but the curse of life is that you can not see yourself, can only see what others tell you, and the others are just as twisted by there perceptions and notions as you are. And so perhaps, no one can actually give you a valid outlook on yourself. But it would be nice to have some opinion one could trust, or at least ask, don't you think?

The Last Meeting?

Ruan sat there, patiently writing code, in the room which is not a room. There are some things, he thought to himself, that never change. Like code. Code doesn't change. It always works. And there's something nice about that. You know that all the errors in the code are errors you created. You know that all the ideas in the code which are wrong are your ideas. There is dissipation of thoughts or confusion of goals in code. The code is nice, particularly nice, because it is so easily understood by it's creator. It does nothing it was not told, does nothing which can not be predicted, or rigorously proven. There is something uniquely beautiful about that. Something stark and pure about seeing code, as if one could look into another's mind, and see there thoughts and figures and how they view the world.

Spark entered the room which was not a room. He looked pained, tired, like someone just waking up. His eyes darted, twin orbs of blue gazing about restlessly. His eyes came to a rest on Ruan. "Ah, Mr.Nightfletcher," he spoke softly, as if he had not spoken in a long time. "Finally, I return."

Ruan turned then, his head at least while is fingers continued on, seemingly unhindered by the lack of site or discernible input. The crisp clacking of the keys on the keyboard permeating the silence.

Spark gazed on idly. He smiled to himself and seemed to concentrate and a small red ball appeared in his hand. He rolled it up his arm and bounced it off his shoulder to his other arm, where it rolled into his other hand. he smoothly rolled the ball down his arm and across the back of his neck, into his other hand. He spun the ball around and rolled it down his arm and tossed it off his elbow several feet in the air. He watched it come down, but made no move to catch it. The ball hit the floor and smashed, glittering pieces of plastic flowed across the floor while the echoing sound mingled with Spark's voice as he screamed "What in the nine is wrong with you Nightfletcher"

Ruan stopped typing. "I'm tired," he replied, and this was clearly visible. His eyes were clouded and murky, and upon closer look it was obvious his hands and face were bruised. He stood and winced as he put pressure on his left leg, slowly limping over to face Spark. "Why?"

"Why what," Spark said with a laugh. "You did it didn't you. You and your emotions. You and your feeling. I still ought to smack you." Spark looked thoughtful. "And yet," he said, "Somehow this is funnier"

Ruan snarled, and swung and Spark angrily, his fist flying wide as Spark moved out of the way. "just leave me alone," Ruan muttered and Spark smiled. "Why Mr.Nightfletcher? Why should I leave you alone to your terror? What did you expect? That things would finally make sense to you? That you would finally understand?"

Ruan collapsed, his eyes half closed as he lay on the ground. Tears escaped his murky eyes, running across his face and dribbling onto the floor, where the seemed to get confused and pool a little before dripping into oblivion. "What do you want, you bastard," he said, but his heart was gone from this fight, and his voice was little more then a whisper.

Spark smiled. "I want to hear you admit it."

"Fine," Ruan said, "Fine then. I’m failing at this. I am finding it harder and harder to care. I had hoped that she would be more energized, more willing to participate in life. That the problems she was having were at an end.” He gazed up and Spark, who smiled grimly and looked back at him. “I love her,” Ruan muttered, “I really do. But no matter what I try she is always worse the next day. If we go out with other people she won’t participate. She’ll ignore them and then be frustrated by it. She’ll be depressed and I’ll hang out with her and she’ll get a little better and then be worse the next day because I’m not there. I’m scared. I can’t always be there. I can try, but I can’t. And I can’t guess what I should do, can’t predict what she’ll be like. Tonight she’ll wander around and apparently not go home but other nights would prefer I leave her to her wanderings. A week ago she cared if something happened next weekend and now she would just as soon work it as try and parlay an opinion of what should be done. I looked into Kamloops as an interesting place to go, far enough for the stars to be a little brighter but not so far as to have to drive for 8 hours. Could probably find a vacancy somewhere, if I’m lucky, maybe if I plan ahead a little. But I’m to unsure of what she wants, to confused by what she says. I’m no good with people and it’s killing me. I don’t know whether to let her be, let her try to heal, or take her in when the chances of getting snapped at and hated are as equivalent to those of making the pain go away. Without school I can barely find that common ground I need, can’t break the stretch of silence, can’t get an opinion out of her on what should be done next. I’m not hoping for specifics, I never get those anyways, but some kind of opinion would be nice.”

Spark shrugged, sort of a knowing shrug. “You think what then?” he said slyly, “She’s just in it for the touch? Two people who can’t find common ground to talk on and can’t come up with something to do. That wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Your wrong,” Ruan said, anger welling up inside him. “I know your wrong.” “Well, if I’m so wrong, then why do you keep calling on me to deal with the situation?” Spark asked. “She can tell it’s me you know. I’m rather vacant with her.” He smiled again. “I won’t let you win this one,” Ruan muttered. Spark began to walk away, towards what served as an entrance to the room which was not a room. He half waved his hand. “It is not that I will win this one, Mr.Nightfletcher,” he said, “It is that you have already lost. That she needs to heal.” “So do we,” Ruan yelled and Sparks back. “That,” Spark said, “Seems like a very unlikely prospect indeed. But perhaps if you showed some compassion, and did not become so depressed when it didn’t work, and simply kept trying instead of wallowing in your failure you might be more successful. And perhaps if you focused on that, focused on the fact that the trying, not the success or the failure, should be what you are trying to accomplish, perhaps then the rest will come.” Spark turned and grinned. “Or perhaps you are just as terrible a person as I am, in that after a while you simply can not care because you have become so numb to everything but your code.” And at this he laughed. “The code has numbed you Nightlfetcher. You have lost your drive, your sense of adventure, your hopes for dark nights and miniskirts and starlit kisses. You where a collared shirt and a pair of jeans and wish you could sleep more. It is not, Mr.Nightfletcher, that I will win. It is that you have lost who you are to a bad job and a lack of friends and a that missing piece of excitement. You have become the sad little man you never thought you’d be. And now even I am leaving this pathetic little bubble of control. Maybe I’ll come back, Mr.Nightfletcher. But isn’t this what you want? To lose the unpredictability and the chaos.” And at this Spark began to laugh and Ruan to cry, and the splash of tears mingled with the harsh laughter. “Goodbye, Mr.Nightfletcher,” Spark said, “I wonder if I’ll ever see you again.” And with that Spark left the room which was not a room, and Ruan’s eyes paled even more as the tears flowed down his cheeks and attempted to pool across the floor.

Please Don't Go

I know it's hard to tell how mixed up you feel
Hoping what you need is behind every door
Each time you get hurt, I don't want you to change
Because everyone has hopes, you're human after all
The feeling sometimes, wishing you were someone else
Feeling as though you never belong
This feeling is not sadness, this feeling is not joy
I truly understand, Please, don't cry now

Please don't go, I want you to stay
I'm begging you please, please don't leave here
I don't want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel
The world is just illusion trying to change you
Please don't go, I want you to stay
I'm begging you please, please don't leave here
I don't want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel
The world is just illusion trying to change you

Being like you are
Well this is something else, who would comprehend?
But some that do, lay claim that
Divine purpose blesses them
That's not what I believe, it doesn't matter anyway
A part of your soul ties you to the next world
Or maybe to the last, I'm still not sure
What I do know is, to use the world is different
As we are to the world but, I guess you would know that

Please don't go, I want you to stay
I'm begging you please, please don't leave here
I don't want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel
The world is just illusion trying to change you

-Illusion, VnV Nation

(no subject)

What happened? What happened to star sprinkled skies and endless nights. What happened to sweat covered brows and lurking shadows and a sense of freedom, of adventure, of chaos? When did we all decide we were going to be thirty and just leave life to those who actually want to live. Aren't you curious? Don't you wonder at night? Or all you all just content to life your facsimiles of lives and be quietly depressed. There has to be more. Human civilization could not have lasted this long without it. We would have all killed each other long ago, or jumped off cliffs to avoid self realization.

There has to be something else. I can't be the only person who simply wants a change. A bit of adventure, or mystery, of chaos. How can you stand it? How do you deal? Or, let me guess, you deal because you have boyfriends or girlfriends and want nothing else from life. I pity you then, for at least I will attempt to search for a better tomorrow and you will realize to late that there is more to existence. There has to be more to existence.

So I quit. I'm leaving. Come with me, if you dare, except that your to depressed, or afraid, or confused, or fuck knows what. I'm sick of it. Sick of sitting around discussing the day events and watching you snuggle someone you care about because that's apparently all there is to you. You all talk about how much fun you have at sanctuary, at parties, and yet are unwilling to leave your houses. Come and play mortals, come out and actually pretend you want to enjoy this little bit of entertainment rather then rot away, content in your sorrows. Fuck this. Don't get sad. Get angry. Play for better. Come and join me. Fuck being the good guy, or playing by the rules or existing in any kind of sane manner.

Come and play scum. Come. And. Play.