Sagan

“A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called "leaves") imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time ― proof that humans can work magic.”

-Carl Sagan.  Rest well, your work continues

I recently picked up a fun novel by a local artist and former teacher of mine.  The story so far is very teen romance, but it has wonderful hints of the lessons and wisdom that only a person only achieves by living, sometimes much more than fourty years.  Sagan's words echo in response to the deluge of my thoughts rushing through the void as I read.  So here I am again, dear reader.  The call has been heard and I find myself putting down the book and taking up my pen.

"One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person..."  Beyond simply a recording of a voice, when one reads a book, they get to feel what they feel and see how they see.  When I read this book, I feel not only how she wants her characters to be seen, but also how she sees herself.  When I read this book, I feel the years teaching, her childhood, her thoughts on political issues, her entire personal awakening as it unfolded over years in the culmination of a vessel to try to communicate it.  In Carl Sagan's book, Contact, the characters, the world, and the story are all just metaphors for the inner struggle of his own balance of spirituality and science.  What I am trying to say is that not only do we read a story, but in reading we can see right to the raw essence of that person because they poured their life into it.  The same is true for ANY craft from glasswork to graffiti.  I find myself picking up my old books and searching beyond the words to find the artist beneath them-- to connect with another briefly so that I may peer outside myself and into the void where all become one. 

"Across the milennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently..."  Transcendent of time, transcendent of culture, transcendent of gender, transcendent of race, transcendent of space, transcendent of all the limitations of our physical bodies, all mediums of communication including books connect us to something other than ourselves-- something far larger than ourselves.  For a moment, I am her writing at her desk.  In that moment, I feel the connections and hidden meanings behind every word.  I feel the weight of a scene for its meaning for her and not how it is continuing the story forward.  These transcendent mediums of connection we refer to as "art" are truly far more sacred than we give them grace for in our cultural rituals.

"Binding together people..."  Every denizen of every generation of all mankind past and future are all individual cups overflowing with love, experience, and life force.  I believe that each and every one wants to reach out onto this comparably infinite canvas of the universe and leave their mark.  My theory is that this cling to mortality and desire to leave a mark comes from this universal desire to connect to a greater power.  Great cinema and storytelling let us live another life and connect to others.  This connection IS divine.  It is love, it is heaven, it is a greater spirit, it is one communication between two cups, hanging over the infinite connection of all cups overflowing together as one.  

"Proof that ... humans can work magic."  I am highly romantic and occasionally refer to cell phones as technologically mediated telepathy, so I love this line.  But seriously, I feel that this magic lies of the fringe of action and reaction, like a shadow trailing blue.  Books, words, cinema, tapestries, canvasses splotched with ink, experience crafting, arts of any and every kind are magic.  They are a magic that connects souls, shares experience, and allow two to become one, even if only briefly.  But I will only call it magic for today, dear reader.  I call it magic only because we do not understand it well enough to call it a triumph of science...  

Yet.

Anywho.  Enjoy the magic.

It has been spoken

A dear friend of mine has been observing random little things I say and fully celebrating these moments of gratitude he has in hearing them unleashed upon the world anew.  That was really complicated sounding.  Basically, I'll say something randomly like, "that seemed like a good idea.  In retrospect: not so much."  He'll like it and tell me about how much he liked it.  I like that-- but then I worded it.  Anyway.  I was on Facebook and had a moment with my own words I spoke:

Me: 'sup Fiona!
Fiona, the unnamed friend: I'm drunk, how'r you?
((The mental dexterity required to make a mobile device type "how'r" is far too great to say much of her drunkenness, but the same could be said for my level of stonedness at the time.  I certainly was trying to get obliterated, so I replied in haste to get back to hitting Hexxas.))
Me: Almost baked beyond reality.

I just really enjoyed those words...  Anyway, I am getting baked as I write because I got a third of the way through my first time seeing Frozen when a derpy snowman began halucinating himself in a field during summer with derpy bees and derpy faced flowers all around him.  He then began RAPSHODISING, ACCOMPANIED BY FULL ORCHESTRA, ABOUT HOW AWESOME IT WOULD BE!  I need to level with you right now, I completely lost it.  It was just way too much.  I was LOVING it SO MUCH that I needed to experience it with one billion percent of my capacity.  So I ... yeah.  I'm pretty good right now.

My friends have told me so much about this movie on a deeper level, like meta-movie production analysis kind of stuff, but I don't really understand any of their words, which I remember.  Either way, now that I'm baked beyond reality, I don't have to wait any more to understand.

And I just had another moment with those words.

This world

This world is a complex one.  To fully encapsulate it, I must begin by saying it is the most beautiful and complex thing in existence.  It IS existence as far as I am aware.  Held within it, is every phenomenon conceived and unimagined-- ever.  That includes you, dear reader.  You are born of this universe and your birthright defines you as child, mother, father, and Holy Spirit of the universe.  ALL of it is contained in you and this is just as mathematically true as saying that you are contained in it.  

But (of course there is a but) we live in a world where this perfection seems just slightly out of reach.  We live in a society where homelessness, joblessness, hopelessness, despair, and aloneness are allowed.  More than allowed, these atrocious abominations towards the god in your heart are encouraged to promote the never ending ladder climb of the Economy (capitalized for this beast has attained a deific, proper noun status in this society).

I cannot help everyone.  I don't have a Goldmember Visa Platinum that can swipe away all the debts of society and provide for the basic needs of all mankind as much as I wish I could.  The solution is far simpler:  Take your time in this life.  Stop when your soul compels you and take care of those around you.  Do everything in your power to live while not harming others.  This is hard, considering that our common business practice of buy low and sell high is quite literally akin to stealing by this train of thought.  However, acceptance and understanding must travel from person to person.  This, dear reader, is my plight as a writer.  Words cannot change the world.  Only actions can.  No law written in words can keep the public safe any more than a law written in words can keep the public submitted for the greed of a few.  Action is the only true force here.  But words hold the means to meaning and the enunciation of truth, or so I have heard.

Our bodies are immeasurably small.  The force of our physical bodies is mute compared the billions of other bodies moving and acting as one.  We are but one drop in a vast ocean, but we must remember that every tide starts with one tentative drop pulling upwards.  The other drops must believe her to be crazy!  Why do you defy gravity?  Because I am being pulled.  That first drop is followed by others and the great cycle continues, well outside the comprehension of all.

Each one of us must fight, and if necessary die, to bring about a world where the universe's beauty is seen in all of its splendor in every waking moment by all.  We are living in heaven and hell simultaneously right now.  Every moment of your waking life is a dream and your life is a metaphor for your spirit.  Jesus said often that the kingdom of heaven is within you.  Not one man nor a group of men or a place in the sky, but WITHIN you.  You the people have the power to make this life free and beautiful.  The power to create machines, the power to create happiness-- the power to create LIFE itself.  It is our divine responsibility to make this life beautiful.  This is not done with guns nor with words, it is to be done with actions simply done in every moment.  Be they lawful or unlawful, you will know these actions when you perform them because a lion in your heart will roar.  This roar, in all its multicolored light will overtake you and you shall know heaven through the eye of the beloved.  You will hold eternity in that moment, and you will never EVER wish to live in any other place than the present.

That being said, society is a pretty shitty place right now and is stopping us most of us from experiencing that, so we gots some work that needs doin'.  Let's start doing that, ok?

Edited internet consciousness

I used this term in my first Hearthstone Hijinks post and never defined it.  I used it to describe an editing method used by YouTubers.  The style aids a prerecorded voice with images and other means of directing the connection space of the viewer.  A master of the art is MatPat of the Game Theorists, watch the link: http://youtu.be/7S1SVkysIRw

The way this style works is by providing a case or argument via words while supporting it with images and recordings for evidence as well as entertainment. This is by no means a new concept, but the evolution of this method has undergone done drastic evolution right under our nose.  For instance, in one moment of that episode, he calls Link "a weird guy" while having a cartoony version of Link covering his mouth while giggling peek up from the bottom corner.  To those uncultured, this is Link as he appeared in a very bad Zelda game.  This game was so bad that it is heralded as a triumph of humor and this small image brings actively manipulates the connotations generated by listening to their words.  To me, that ability is incredible, my dear reader.

The internet is a weird place and the amount of memes, cat videos, and whateverthehellelseyouneed vastly exceeds the length of a human life.  Yet, we find ourselves knowing about the internet much as we know about the trees in our back yards or the stores in our local communities.  We find out about the new TV shows from our friends, we glance at vaster quantities of information every day thanks to Facebook and other social media, and we rely on subtle hints and cues more than ever to dictate how we feel about something we know little about.  So to say that one image popping into the frame for a whopping 2 seconds can manipulate how we as listeners connote and connect their words to our lives, that is absolutely phenomenal.  That image shows that he is being sarcastic in a loving way.  Knowing PeanutButterGamer, I could tell from his voice, but even without knowing him, that image can dictate how we react to words.

Rumi said that words are a rock in a sling.  We wind up and let them fly, but the rest is out of our control.  As technology grows, I believe we will see the internet for what it truly is, a constantly evolving and debating repository for the experience of the creature known as mankind.  It is the brain of a creature in which we are mere neurons, communicating with each other as we sense the world outside of us.  Each of us neurons with our miniscule sight see as one and together we see clearer.  This term that I am describing, this edited internet consciousness, is the technique of us as neurons sending out a pulse to another part of the brain to recall an experience that sways the meaning of our words by amplifying them with your own related experience.  I don't have to hope you will be thinking the same thing I was thinking as Rumi did.  I can share with you a communal experience we both shared on the internet and my words will be modified through the lense of that experience, granting me a clarity of sharing thoughts that is unheard of in all of history.

Hearthstone Hijinks Ep 4

Today's episode is a short one.  My normally defensive priest deck, Gratitude, drew into a hand that would not quit with its stream of impossibly strong low mana cards.  Let's jump in and satyr a favorite author of mine, David Mitchell, who wrote Cloud Atlas.  If you have read it, this will all be very funny.  If you have only seen the movie, this might make you giggle.  If you have not seen or read Cloud Atlas, get out now.  This will not be funny and you have something FAR better to experience for the next three hours compared to my shite fanfiction.

"

My dearest Sixforge,

Recently I got hooked on a journal written by a night elf written during a voyage from Old Gadgetzan to Booty Bay.  But it's completely killing me, half of it is missing.  While out searching for a new copy from Bronze and Nobility with the dreaded Eva, a most curious happening washed over me, sending me tumbling-- like dust out into an endless sea.

Eva, your favorite person in the whole world by now, needed to buy her books for university and came along with me.  Her abhorred voice combined with topics for conversation less deep than what I would expect from a goldfish rotted my brain until about half way in.  I ran across a rival composer from the all boys religious college I attend, Ricky-senpai.  He was wearing his school uniform.  Of course I was wearing mine-- you never have to ask.

The world is a web of interlocking strings, old friend, tugged at by the same forces that bind our hearts.  Fate would have him to have a fag hag of some sort along with him from the same school as our Eva.  The tension was palpable but all I could think of was getting a copy of that journal the whole time.  I literally blanked out for a moment while they were cat fighting.  

When I came to, Eva had defeated the other girl in mortal combat and needed some of my words to calm her down.  In that moment talking to her, Sixforge, I heard the gears of fate move like an old clock tower jolting to a start.  I suddenly knew what to say to her and when I uttered those words, magic happened.  I won't get into the nitty gritties for you just in case you decide to get jealous, but essentially, she became a 6/5 and solo cleared his entire board.

Suddenly and beyond all probability, a Yeti trumped gaily into our alleyway and became positively enraged.  And Eva doesn't even flinch!  She charges right into him, getting slashed in the stomach and killing the beast with a single rage-kick to the groin.  I drop a circle of healing, more moment-transcending words, and then my shoujo light spirit, Yagami, showed up randomly.  Eva and Yagami shut down all of Ricky-senpai's taunts and misdirects as I thought restlessly about the end of that journal I so desired.

I was as surprised as Ricky when our professor, Temple Protector-sensei, showed up with evidence making Yagami's argument more powerful.  Tears immediately began streaming down his thin, perfectly chiseled face and he publicly confessed his emotional instability around me, granting the title of class president-senpai to me from that day onward.  

The moment was over as quickly as it began, Sixforge.  Will I do harm or good with my title?  Will Eva and I ever become momentary lovers?  I am really not sure.  What matters is that I found a copy of that journal.  Feel very honored, my love.  I sat down to write you this letter BEFORE finding out why he was friends with that gnomish slave and why a fellow night elf would be trying to secretly poison him.

Forever yours,

Anduin

"

Bonus chapter!  Translated from Yeti to common, free of charge by Blizzard Entertainment:

"

Voices yibberin'ed.  Yeti grumberlin's unheard'un fur centuries washed a'over me, makin' that blizzard look a'like springun.  They shower'd me wit' fish'uns of who I might be and how I might'un live.  Peace, harminy, a fitted-well suit from Stormwind's Warehouse, the fish'uns shower'd me with know'uns of all.  

Close'un to peace, this one was.  I strode'un through a'Stormwind confidently.  The only hoomins 'round were empty guards and tasty gnome'un, and no one lis'ns to the gnome'un.  I strolled into an alley a'fur a haircut when I met eye to eye with the fangless devil hisself, Anduin.  The hoomin whose letters I tirelessly deliver'd.  The meatthing whose sexual escapade'uns and dickish behaviour stands in direct opposition to the Yeti code'un.  I lost'd my cool and I roar'd.  A myst'ry woomun approach'd with a rage'un outside a'my comprehension.  I slash'd wit force that has rested strong males of her species, but a'not even a'flinchin.  Her foot drive'd up between m'leg'uns.  I feel'd pain.

All light fade'n to darky.  All darky fade'n to here, to you, 'un to yer question.  But Yeti swap, query fur query.  Who--'r you?

"

Hearthstone hijinks 3

Today has been quite the day for rogue-ing on Hearthstone.  I had a quest to win 5 times as rogue or warrior and to heck with that guy, so bam.  Tons of rogue I otherwise wouldn't have played if I had the choice.  Let's go make fun of my childhood:

"

Livejournal.owl

Login: ValeeraVentris101

Password: ********

Cycle: 10024 

Day: 6

Mood: sexually frustrated

Music: Azerothean Anarchists-- Weephammer

Ever since the thieves guild in Gadgetzan known as Sith Club kicked me out, things have been hard.  It's been a tough week, but I've cut down worse.  Taking bounties is an awkward business these days.  Especially when it means fighting for a cause I never even asked about.  People... <italics>sigh</italics> people never change.  Always flinging rumors and lies.  What kind of dogs will be after me for whatever today's fun is interpreted as?  One day they are bowing at my heels-- and the next, on a witch hunt for me.  All factions are the same.  Can't live with them, but I think I could live without them ... Yes.  Note to self, say that next time I meet Thrall.

Today, I tangod with the prince of all Stormwind himself on what felt like a borders dispute.  I don't know what I was fighting for, all I cared about was that someone paid me good money to claim that boy for whoever the fuck.  One step closer to completing my official SasuNaru collection.  But I must remember not to let my goal distract me.

I appeared from the shadows and whispered in his ear, "Come now, boy, I think I'll enjoy myself more than I bargained for with you here.  The pleasure, is mine."

It felt good to stop him in his tracks like that.  His poor cleric was dead in her tracks too.  The beautiful little thing lives to inspire and be inspired.  Useless, she has no place on this battlefield.  I called in my Defias boys, but his reflexes were quick.  Before I could get bored and start clicking shit, he smited the leader and healed her up after she took care of the other.  

"...Greetings," were the only words he muttered after mugging my muggers.  His awkward tone was barbed with bits of confidence that enraged me.

Such a taunt, such a sickening play to make me feel weak.  I couldn't contain myself.  In a dance of whirling steel, I destroyed my first set of poisoned blades, sending shrapnel exploding everywhere.  I watched the cleric fall lifelessly to the ground.  It was beautiful.  I then called my bird to drop my assassin's blade and things got personal.  I charged forward screaming and slashing a gash right through his priestly garb.  He can dress up like a holy man all he wants, but all men are the same filth once you get their clothes off.

Anduin's momentum pleasantly surprised me.  He sent out some powerful minions for a clothie, but I trickled out my forces slowly to match him as I continued my endless assault on his face.  I may not have been doing much damage, but the pressure was on.  He had to do something big quick and I hate to admit it, but he did.

The momentum ran out and he was left with an ardent squire.  I was caught up in the moment.  I might have pushed him too far with what I said, "All you've got is that little baby left!  Well... To be fair, I guess you got two little things left."  I held my fingers up with a guess and continued to pester him: "this big?  THIS big?  Oh?  Oh... ;)"

Must've hit a nerve because he dropped a light elemental and doubled its stamina which doubled its attack and size.  Overcompensating much?  So typical.  I called in Vinny.  He's an unsightly drunken gnome, but his poison might be the most deadly stuff in existence.  I would just use the poison myself and avoid him at all costs, but I can't work the poison and he prefers to take jobs in person.  Some power fantasy or something.  "You lookin' at me, princess?"

"Vinny, you are supposed to be stealthed.  There is a 10/10 light demon right there and even though you don't get outside much, I don't think even your beer belly is white enough to reflect him."

Vinny remained defiantly atop the Orcen rubble, "Well nice to see you too, sweetheart?"  He looked to Anduin.  "You show a girl a good time and this is how she returns the fava'?  Unbelievable."

His silhouette faded into the shadow as he abandoned his rubble throne.  I had never felt so embarrassed in battle, but more than my pride was about to be hit.  Just being near that light elemental was searing.  When it tried to slam me, the only thing that saved me was ducking into the shade of the remains of a building that was recently hit by a catapult and popping my racial just at the right moment. 

While I was busy dodging his elemental, he summoned and buffed another one, but I had been preparing.  This was Gerald's cue.  I mentioned him in a previous post while on my hiatus in Booty Bay.  He is the one who wears weird clothes so people pick fights with him so he can beat them up.  Not the sharpest knife on my belt, but his silence has shattered the momentum of many legendary-toting assholes in the past.  Gerald blazed down from the sky as Vinny made the dream real.  As the fat gnome incinerated himself in fiery bliss after diving head first into the elemental, his poison activated and burst the creature like a bubble.  

RIP Vinny.  I am so sorry I doubted that you could poison a creature made of light itself.  You were still a creep though.  

So on one side of me was an explosion and on the other, Gerald had given his elemental a seizure.  These beings have combat prowess equal to their health, but when silenced, I think they forget who they are.  They just stand there with tons of health and twitch infrequently.  "Well played, vile woman, but the light shall burn you yet!"

Anduin had been pincering me into a trap through all of that though.  I may have taken out his elementals, but he had pushed the skirmish towards his War Golem.  I sapped it to buy some time for my Venture Company boy to arrive.  The three of us wailed on Anduin.  I have to hand it to the goblin mercenary, his professionalism is a dream to work with.  Anduin managed to summoned a poisonous snake in the chaos and sent the Golem after ME.  I have seen some cocky moves, but this one took the cake.  

The boulder swung its massive arms.  They hit nothing but old building.  Even still, the flying debris from that massive force were enough to knock the wind out of me.  With its hands buried in the earth, I lost it.  "YOU want to intimidate ME into attacking YOUR minion?  I don't think you realize who you are facing up against!  I will be your doom!"

Using the golem as the stepping stone he was destined to be, I pounced into Anduin with everything I had.  Gerald and the mercenary were enough to bloody his pretty little face before I got there and Anduin wasn't even expecting a sinister strike and a head crack to follow my dagger blows.  My legs, hands, and voice were visibly shaking with intensity as I stood over him. "I REALLY appreciate your spirit, boy, but you don't realize you can send him right back on me and I just won't care.  That boulder is a long way from taking me down and I will keep coming for you again and again.  Frankly, I don't think you can 'keep it up' for much longer.

The pop of my lips on my Ps visibly staggered him with an alacrity my blades could never achieve.  However, there was something about his acceptance of his error and the valiant protest to my will that got underneath my skin.  Most men are too distracted by their ego, but Anduin was so pure, fluid, defiant.  I admit it.  While I was most assuredly turned on at the time, I do not feel anything for him now.  Nothing.  Comments on the subject will be deleted, hacked, and assassinated by me personally.

He wisely sent his golem to fight my mercenary and Gerald worked away at the snake (I hope Gerald got poisoned.  I really do).  It was just me and Anduin alone again.  I chased him down the hall hailing flurries of blows.  All he had was some healing, but it was enough to set me back a turn or two.  Much to my pleasure, it was then that Bloodmage Thanlos found his way to the battle.  Magic has always been a dark side of mine and this Mage compliments my magic well.  The shadows weaved around me as I unleashed a three pronged attack on him.  One shadow shived his gut, he doubled over right into another shadow kicking him in the face, and my body followed with my daggers and the head crack again.  Empowered by my friend, Anduin's barely conscious body crumpled to the floor.

"Aww, did I break your pretty little smile with that last shot?"  A whimpered groan communicated that he could hear me, so I twisted the dagger of my words.  "Don't worry, I'll always love you.  Well played, boy.  I don't know if that was as good for you as it was for me, but whatever it was, we should do it again sometime."

"Fool.  You don't even know what you are fighting for," he spat blood and found his way to his hands and knees.  "I'm sorry.  You may be an excellent fighter, but if you continue to give into your anger and your carnal desires at a whim, all your winning might just cause all of us, including you, to lose."

"I'm not a Sith Club anymore, Anduin.  All of that serious, end of the world business is out of my resume."

"Tell me how much harder that will make it for the Sith Club to control your actions."

I smirked, "Sarcasm?  Cute."  I felt my anger settle into my face.  "But you're right.  We are NOT allies, yet if you do notice the Sith Club planning anything, you contact me personally.  I have some backtracking and spying on my past employers to do."

Anduin started to rouse himself to his feet as the sight owls began perching nearby.  His image changed near them, "You're right.  I think Old Bishop Wan and I wouldn't fare well working with you either... You smell.  It's hard to explain to the people we usually work with.  You understand."

Truly, I didn't know whether to be insulted or laugh my ass off.  That boy is so awkward and young, but that sarcasm and feistiness is commendable, especially after such a bitter defeat.  The eternal dark cradled me and I shadow stepped away, pretending not to hear his last words.  With one last look back, I saw him smile.  Looking down and shaking his head, he was half glowing in light, half consumed by darkness.  What a mysterious individual.

...  

Absolutely no comments on the matter of me and Anduin, please.  I don't want to have to spend an afternoon deleting comments again.  

Hearthstone hijinks 2

This second hijinks took place when I was testing out a new priest deck.  Anduin the priest is a very strange young man.  In the sea of armor clad orcs with biceps larger than a human chest, hunters who have tested themselves in the harshest wilds of Azeroth, and women who could sunder entire armies without breaking a sweat, the ninth hero of Hearthstone is a mild mannered bean pole of a prince named Anduin.  Today's deck capitalizes on his ability to buff and heal an army tempo that the mightiest board clear cannot break while mind controlling and converting enemy forces for efficient mana and card trades while simultaneously having draw power literally off the charts, dipping my hand into the enemy's deck to play their own cards against them.  Many matches go to fatigue, but so far most have gone in my favor.

The game featured a player who yielded every turn to me.  Usually when a player disconnects, you just win, but this game the enemy warlock just yielded every turn until I beat him into a pulp.  I felt bad.  I almost conceded twice just because fighting an unarmed man, even my mortal (yet undead) enemy, just felt wrong.  I powered through though.  Let's see what my imagination thought.

Ahem

"

Greetings, Anonymous.  I am Edwin Van Cleef live on VTV and I am interrupting your mainstream media coverage to bring you the truth.  Tonight is the highly anticipated Mr. Stormwind competition in downtown Stormwind city.  Tonight, the hero of the Horde and nightmare from the Undercity, Gul'dan, has bought access into our city to take part in the proceedings.  Tonight, security is so tight that not even the SNN can get close to this battle.  But tonight-- tonight, the truth will be unveiled.  One of my SI-7 agents got an owl's eye view of the people's decision on the matter and it is coming to you now, just moments after the showdown, to help spread the truth of the corruption that poisons Stormwind's deepest wells.

For those if you living in ignorance, Gul'dan, the undead and sworn enemy of Stormwind, has gained entrance into that once great city by donating thousands of gold to the Mr. Stormwind competition.  I don't like this.  Either Gul'dan is planning some form of subterfuge for the horde or he is willing to divert thousands solely to see Stormwind's finest men in bikinis.  I don't know which is worse, but the truth is all I come here to offer.

To make matters more confusing, the people have chosen Gul'dan to fight for pop idol, Fernando Trollbane, against the reigning Mr. Stormwind, Leeroy Jenkins.  Why is this confusing?  Follow the money!  Gul'dan's money is ALWAYS on Leeroy.  VTV recorded footage shows Leeroy time and time again aiding our enemy and ensuring victory in many Murlok-filled zoo storms.  This relationship built on greed must end.  

This is why tonight I take you dangerously close to the battle to show you the truth of what happened.  Anduin's true face may inspire you or disgust you, but prepare yourselves; this footage is not safe for the weak of stomach.  So rarely do we get to hear the words of battle uttered in real time, but words offer the means to meaning, and for those that listen, the enunciation of truth.  And the truth is that there is something terribly wrong with this city.  My name is Van Cleef and this is VTV.

Here we see the two combatants alone in the streets of old town.  Gul'dan stands imposingly at the door of the pub as Anduin approaches from the West.  The district is off limits to ALL but the combatants.  Never stopped me, has it?

"...Greetings."

Anduin is seven kinds if creepy, if you ask me.  He may wear the banner of the light and the crown of that once great city, but that boy's shadow magic and knack for absolute mind control puts him on even footing with the master of shadow magics himself.  This isn't a battle of good and evil here.  That's just what they want you to believe.  Anduin calls his brightest cleric to the field.  Her dark skin is far too beautiful for the battlefield.  Her buffs are strong, but against this warlock, I would be expecting HUGE early aggression.  And yet, Gul'dan stands motionless.

"... Greetings."  Anduin's words pass again over uncaring, rotten ears as he calls a rabid worgen to his side.  The girl and the dogbeast begin to beat the defenseless, speechless undead.

"Why do you not fight, warlock?"

Gul'dan speaks, his words briefly perforated by pathetic kicks to the shin and limp, unenraged claw swipes.  "I fight for the honor --smack-- of Fernando.  If I win, he is crowned --oof-- Mr. Stormwind."

"Then fight, vile abomination!  May the light guide the most beautiful man to be crowned through victory!"  

Holy light smites Gul'dan to his knees and he raises his head directly into the wrath of these two weak minions.  Anduin is not capitalizing on this free tempo advantage, but continues to order his friends to beat the helpless undead.  "Look at yourself, lightbringer, last week, you were to stand here and I was to stand there, what changed?"

"The people have spoken and nominated me for this competition for my devotion to Leeroy."

"Please, you used him ONCE to pull a victory out your bishop's hindquarters.  I sense the deception in your heart.  Give into the dark side, Anduin."

On cue, the so-called holy avatar's eyes begin to glow purple with unholy energy and his mind blast burns negative energy wounds into Gul'dan's flesh.

"No.  I refuse to listen to your lies, snake!  I'll never join you."

"Oh?  But you already have, my dear boy.  You have betrayed Fernando by not standing for him."

"And you betray Fernando by not fighting when you are called to fight for him."

The warlock smiles, the pitiful clawing, scratching, and burns hardly even stopping his speech.  "Then our goals are aligned.  Leeroy is the rightful heir to this title and the mass media will spin this victory my way.  Leeroy will not lose his power and nothing you can do will stop it."

"No!"  Anduin visibly reels from Gul'dan's words.  "Everyone wants Leeroy nerfed.  What if I lose-- what if I concede?"

"You won't.  You can't.  Your people need you.  To show you cannot win in your very own city against an opponent with no minions will show just how incapable you are to face me in the Undercity.  Your ranking on the ladder depends on this victory.  Your reputation as a prince depends on this victory.  If you concede now, all of Stormwind will know of the coward, Anduin Wryyn, who concedes to his sworn enemy in an attempt to siphon power away from one of the realm's most abused 6/2 charge unit with a blatant political scandal involving the most popular owlvision show on the air."

Anduin's diminuitive beauty strikes the hardened war criminal with a closed fist and retreats, cradling her injured hand.

"Who knows?  You might even be accused of an affair with Fernando."

"Why are you doing this?  I see no owls, you seem to have everyone silenced and me between a rock and a hard place.  Why?  How?  For what reason?"

The warlock's eyes grin with pleasure to spill the beans.  "I'm still alive somehow.  Sure, I'll tell you.  Leeroy must not be nerfed.  I have sold countless stacks of dust and fraudulent arena passes in order to orchestrate this trap for you, your majesty.  When Leeroy wins by the hand of Stormwind's most eligible bachelor/prince (although we both know that is a crock of Tauren shit), there will be no way to nerf him without enraging the public.  I get paid by Leeroy, Leeroy gets paid by me next time he and my zoo destroy all your feeble friends.  That's right, young Anduin.  Your friends will die.  Take your minions.  Take them and STRIKE ME DOWN!"

"NOOOOOOO!  I will defeat you and speak publicly on this deep corruption.  Your kind should never have been allowed in our great city.  Prepare to meet thy doom."  Anduin's rage refreshes and yet these two minions are still the only two on the field even now on turn 7.  

"What are you doing, seriously.  Just get this over with."

Anduin awkwardly heals his cleric's bruised hands, "... I'm trying, actually.  All of my powers are designed to counter and manipulate the cards you play.  My hand is full of cards I literally can't use unless you deal damage to me or play a minion.  My Northshire cleric has 14 health despite her 1 attack."

The unenraged worgen pants and wheezes.  

"This just got awkward."  The warlock goes silent and accepts his slow beating humbly.

Anduin's best and brightest has trouble keeping her assault steady on turn 8 when Anduin finally unleashes a greedy, ninja-rolling gnome to deliver the killing blow.  

Gul'dan is defeated and Stormwind celebrates what they have heard on the SNN, but now, Stormwind, you know the truth.  If you've seen what I've seen, if you feel as I feel, meet me in Westfall, one year from today, and we shall give Stormwind a fifth of November that shall never EVER be forgot!

Hearthstone hijinks 1

Hearthstone is an online card game in the style of Magic: The Gathering.  It is a free to play experience based on the legendary WoW and by the same creators at Blizzard Entertainment.  That being said, I take no credit for the characters although I will be using them to tell stories that may as well be fan fiction.  I will be taking what I remember of a match of Hearthstone and retell the battle how it appeared in my head.  None of this should ever be cannon and it should NEVER be published for the whole world to see, so let's make some mistakes today and hope for the best.

The first one is about a match I had with a Jaina deck I created in the image of the philosophy of Aikido.  There is a lot of area crowd control and powerful spell 'movements' to clear everything my opponent throws out at me 

Ahem

""

Reporting to you LIVE from Pandaria region 6 a veritable army of Stormwind craftsmen and women camp as Malfurion himself stands in violent protest to any who draw near.  Word is that Jaina Proudmore herself has come to make sure this valuable war effort is executed.  The craftsmen are here to create windmill arrays for-- wait!  Here she comes, ladies and gentlemen, here she comes.  Out from the tents like a goddess of blue and silver, she stands at a mind-blowing 6 foot 1 and her white hair, ladies and gentlemen, that hair is the stuff of dreams.  Let's send the sight owl down to listen to what they have to say to each other, shall we?  Looks like we'll be able to catch mosth of Jaina's first words.

"--you are not listening to me!  No harm will come to the forest!  We use science, not some study none of your tweeting blue birds cheeped at you at the crack ass of whatever dawn you heard whatever hippie crap is making you stand here now.  You asked for this."

That was the longest sentence I have ever heard, ladies and gentlemen, but you heard it here!  Jaina backs the safety of these turbines and so should YOU!  But wait, the wind is blowing on Malfurion gently, that means he is about to speak.  His absolutely astounding purple musculature is wreathed by a coat of pine needles and the ageless remains of a tabard, unrecognizable to my history.  Ladies, cover your eyes if you want to remain attracted to your husbands!

"Leave the forest at once.  This project will harm the forest according to the tweeter known as Phillipa. There must be another option.  No.  There WILL be another way.  I must protect the wild."

Without warning, Jaina's mana wyrm charges forward and begins a long and painful battle with a tango ironbeak owl.  The wyrm's magic will be no good near the mysterious screeching of that owl!  The wyrm comes out victorious, but Malfurion finishes it off with a wrath and looks rather pleased with himself.  Jaina cracks the smile right off his face with a sly firebolt to the beard.  It will take more than that to take this monster of an elf off his feet, but something tells me that was supposed to be a shot to his pride.  

Looks like Jaina was up to no good after all with that firebolt, for when Malfurion retaliated with a spell of his own, she countered it.  His primal magic spirals out of control in a flurry of green and blue wisps. What a sight!  Cool under pressure, fighting for a cause that is right, this is the Jaina Proudmore we know and love, ladies and gentlemen, but what's this?  Here come the beasts!  Lions, tigers, and bears, oh my goodness, they are pouring out from everywhere.  Whatever tweeter tweeted this completely untrue report on the safety of these windmills sure rallied an army!

Jaina is calmly back stepping through the streets of Pandaria, freezing and delaying foe after foe.  For every minion she calls to battle, Malfurion calls 3, but well timed cones of cold and frost novas appear to be giving Jaina's forces the upper hand, despite her backwards movement.  I can't tell where she is going, but she must have something up her sleeve.  She is retreating in a spiral pattern drawing all of Malfurion's damaged forces into the town square!  AND THERE IT IS!  The flame strike to end all flame strikes on the field with a wild pyromancer in the field is demolishing everything!  Malfurion furiously kicks a post and a Pandarian windkite goes flying.

Malfurion's forces are gone, ladies and gentlemen!  The vast influence he poured into those creatures is just gone.  The dust is settling now and it appears that Jaina's gnomish apprentice, Susva, has somehow survived the inferno.  Maybe this little one will have what it takes to become the next hero of Stormwind, but I am honestly not placing any bets on her.  Malfurion prostrates himself before what remains of Jaina's forces and is bowing his head to the earth.  I think we are seeing game over here to a single gnome on the field-- BUT WAIT!  A coin is popped and out of the earth, a monumental Ironbark Protector has risen!  I have never seen one before in person-- it must be 30 feet tall!  The thick, ironlike bark forms around inexplicably beautiful blue spirits I can only imagine to be its eyes.  A fateful wind blows this day, ladies and gentlemen.  Autumn leaves cascade down onto a stunned Jaina.  Is this war effort to be put on hold again?  Stay tuned to your sight owls to experience it as I do!  

Jaina is pacing around the awakening oak.  She looks absolutely miffed!  She throws out an Ice Lance to freeze the massive oak and settles her apprentice down.  Jaina appears to be in deep thought just feet outside the swiping range of this frozen monolith.  Wait.  What just happened?  Did she just send out a firebolt arcing into the sky?  I believe she did, folks.  My staff tells me she even sent it out along with a /rude gesture.  I barely noticed that one, did Malfurion?  Let's wait and see!  ... No, ladies and gentlemen, he is resting by a tree thinking of his next move!  Aaand it hits him right in the back of the head!  He is furious, ladies and gentlemen, this battle may be far from over!

Whatever few beasts must be left in this forest pour out into a still burning town center and Jaina's blizzard freezes everything in their tracks.  Susva takes one for the team and sacrifices herself to imprison the gargantua not protector.  Jaina is on the offensive now and her momentum is astounding.

Out of nowhere, a very peculiar bluish white light surrounds Malfurion as he begins to summon Centarion himself!  I can't believe what I am seeing!  Folks, I have seen some strange things in my seasons, but here I see that TWO Centarions have been summoned and are apparently attacking each other along with 4 identical Treants.  Jaina is really something else.  Reading the desire to call forth this old friend, she copied Malfurion's spell word for word, twisting his magic on the fly to create an illusory double!  The dust seems to be settling down and I spy two dead Centaurions.  This is a sad day for the centaur people twice over.  

After all that chaos, all that remains is Tim, Jaina's massochistic warlock she met in Booty Bay.  Jaina is repeatedly setting him on fire!  Those screams you are hearing are not pain, but pleasure.  I don't know what kind of sick game is playing out here, but I just hope Tim cares as much about the cause he is risking life and limb to achieve as he likes being struck by that woman.  Tim's dying breath comes as a relief to my ears and my goodness, Jaina is laughing maniacally.  Only these two heroes remain on the field of battle and she taunts Malfurion to do his worst.  The spirit if the forest sends down two charging tigers right on top of her!  This looks bad, people!  Jaina is out of reinforcements and appears defenseless!

How mistaken I was!  Jaina is covered with a barrier of ice, just barely keeping her alive, but how is she going to finish this without anything to break through?  Nevermind, Jaina was just giving Malfurion one last chance because here comes the pyroblast.  The blast hits Malfurion like a full horse drawn carriage and he goes tumbling, very clearly unconscious.  That is the game, ladies and gentlemen.  Let's send our sight owl in discreetly and hear what the victor has to say to the defeated.

"Well played, Druid.   I may be the victor here, but our goals are aligned.  I do not want to see this forest harmed any more than you do.  Perhaps you could help oversee this construction with your wise council."

"My thanks to you, human.  Your conviction to protect the wild guided your steps to victory this day.  Phillipa was right, the proposed project is faulty, but her followers were trolls.  I did not need to oppose this construction, I need to ensure the balance of nature and use nature itself to aid against our greater enemies.  I accept your generous offer."

Ladies and gentlemen, there you have it: peace has been achieved!  After all that violence and death, a few key words from Jaina's vast intellect and the old Druid is now helping erect the first bio mechanical hybrid machines that put tree farms in trees so that you can grow trees while you grow trees.  The windmills pull natural water up to the trees as well as spin the gears of war in small war factories below.  A win-win for all involved.  This is certainly not what Stormwind wanted, but I will not be the one to go down there and tell Jaina she should follow orders, am I right?

Makes you wonder why she didn't just ask for his help to begin with?  Tim might still be alive to creep everyone the hell out.  Susva might still be Stormwind's Top Apprentice (great show, tune in at 8 tonight).  Dozens of mighty animals might still roam this town.  This town might still have a windkite, farms full of vegetables, and a town square unravaged by flame and frost.  I don't have the answers, folks, so until next time: This is Stormwind Sentral News, signing out.

Walking in the dirt

I read some article somewhere that taking ten minutes a day with your bare feet in the dirt is better medicine than an apple a day.  I easily get my fix from my garden, but I stumbled upon something interesting this morning.  

After working in the garden, I was taking out the recycling and a patch of sun over concrete brought my feet back to the cool and refreshing dirt.  Astounded at the relief on my previously burning feet, I took a moment to appreciate the dirt because I am a hippie or something.  In doing so, I suddenly felt all the benefits I read about in that article ages ago.  Be it suggestion, placebo, truth, or magic, no matter how I came to feel that way, I cannot argue with the feels I felt.  

As with many things, I was reminded in that moment that they key is gratitude.  Perhaps standing in dirt for ten minutes is only correlated to this feeling.  Perhaps it is energetically accepting grace and gratitude that is the cause of the fuzzy feels I felt.  I don't have any of these answers in words, dear reader.  All I have are my feels and a heart as inquisitive as GlaDOS's curiosity core.  But isn't that the same for everyone?

Tattoo idea

I am borrowing a tattoo gun from a friend and giving myself a tattoo.  Before you go cautioning me in the comments, my dear reader, please hear me out.  This is a good idea, I swear.

Starting at my wrist will be the first of many rings moving up my arm.  Each ring will be a year of my life starting at a specific date.  Much like the rings of a tree, each ring further up will represent another year of my life.  Heavily spiritual moments will be etched into a tangible history on my arm metaphorically as a tree ring heavy with rain.  Drought representing personal droughts, thunder marks representing cataclysmic change, ants and flowers, lumps and knots, transplant marks and wind burn, dustings, injuries, experimental growth stars, nutrient colors, every mark on the rings of a tree tells its past.  Each and every ring on my body can use these marks as a symbolic language to write a detailed autobiography of my whole life on my left arm.  

I don't know if I could trust a tattoo artist to pour herself into every pixel of ink as I will have to in order to bring this design to speak as I want it to.  This is why I am going the "borrow the gun" path with this idea.  

Major props to The Fountain for inspiring this idea.  Future Hugh Jackman has similar rings reaching up his arm in this movie.  Hidden in this costume detail is evidence pointing to him being a number of hundreds of years old in this setting while maintaining Tom (aka Hugh Jackman from the present-day story) as the same Tom and not another reincarnation through the display of the tattoo ring on his finger from when he lost their wedding band in his distant past.  I would love to continue discussing the plot and how the details imply some pretty mind-blowing things, but I'll save the spoilers and the nerdgasm for individual discussion with you someday.  Peace.

Trigger warning

(the following is a stream of consciousness from a time when I was not feeling like living.  Following the official rules of the internet, I'm not going to warn you that this may be triggering because I very may well have triggered you earlier because we are different people and have different triggers)

The thought of taking one's own life is always a logical one.  It is justified and irrefutable.  No matter whether it be shame or purposelessness or mourning, some emotion suspends you in the air by hooks in your skin and your eyes are peeled open to truly see exactly WHY you do not deserve to live.  After a hundred hours of evidence, death's repose begins to feel like MORE than what you deserve-- as if you ought to be SO GRATEFUL for death because you feel that your life is worth less than the dirt you'd be shallowly buried in.  Logic continues to bury you alive and this truth sits on your chest literally and figuratively like a fuck ton of dirt.  You cry and curl into a ball, but you are SO relieved.  Death is a gift now and it is the only thing on the shelf that your life has enough value to purchase-- the only thing you have truly earned and a truly beautiful adventure to come.

Your life flashes before your eyes.  You subconsciously find a solitary moment of happiness from your memory you thought you'd long forgotten.  Your lizard brain rages against the dying of the light and you scream through heavy heaving and gasping sobs.  The noise is nothing like what you normally sound like, but it is the singular most "you" sound that has ever been made.  This yawp reminds you that you exist, but you find that you are now empty.  Your life has no value anymore.  Everything you do from this point onwards is outside the bounds of fate because you are supposed to be dead.  You dedicate your life to helping others.  You piece a shell for yourself together from the fragments of the memories of former you.  Are you you or a memory of a story you read?  Are you feeling emotions or are you following a contrived response pattern?  Who are you?  It doesn't matter anymore.  You don't deserve anything, but you are ok with that.  You couldn't take anything anyway if you wanted to, for fate has another home for it.  What flows to you flows through you to where it is needed.  In defying fate, you have become its agent.  You are humbled and a smile appears for the first time this night.  Tears erupt forth as you become lost in the experience of a joy so infinite as to be indescribable.  You are humbled one last time by this joy.  This joy and belonging is something you don't deserve, but you got it anyway.  This joy is something you must pass on to the one it is meant to find.  

And then it hits you and you realize you were wrong all along...  You aren't a fateless being hijacking the system, you were a pawn after all and a pawn who is burdened with much joy to pass around.  This joy you have found is something you GET to pass on to the one it is meant to find.  You realize that all the logic that lead you here was wrong and yet you are thankful because you are entirely changed because of it.  Your cup is now empty and in every moment you cradle, hold, and release the water of the world.  Your tears have subsided.  It is time for action.

Yep.  Things look so hopeful!  But then it hits you that you fall into this exact same pit like once a month.  Good luck with that.

Post Blog:
Please don't be worried about me or anything.  I have so much help and so much anchoring me to my path that I am more than immune to this beast I must battle periodically.  I believe we all visit points like this in our lives.  I share this one with you to offer a moment of solidarity in our connection and our sameness.  You are NEVER alone, dear reader.  For your reading this has put me in your thoughts forever.  Good luck with that.  

Naturality

I am pretty sure this is not a word, but whatever.

I hear the term "digital native" get thrown around a lot.  The common definition of the term is that someone is a digital native if they grew up with technology and the awkward, non-natural manual ways we as nature's children interact with this inorganic tool.  I think there is hidden meaning in this seemingly arbitrary choice of words our society has chosen.  

Our words, dear reader, tell us so much more than we give them credit for.  To say that someone is a natural or a native of any action implies that their actions are natural-- their actions are of nature, are exactly in line with the perfection of nature, are nothing less than HOLY.  To realize that this term is used like this is to realize that being a natural at computer programming is just the same as being a natural at swimming or Tai Chi.  To connect that transitive strand, when we say someone is a digital native, we are saying that technology is a part of nature now.  As with firecrafting and winfarming, technology is just another element to bend.  Anything born of man is born of nature for that is our universal birthright, my sibling of the great mother.  

To finish off this post, I encourage you to study language carefully.  Up in Alaska, once a boy had killed a moose, it is now theirs and people would say it is HIS and he has taken full responsibility for its life since he has willfully killed it.  Compare that to our own culture where if I were to kill something, it would be a carcass, belonging to death-- I don't want to touch it.  These two HUGE details in the treatment and nature of death comes erupting forth from the words our respective cultures use.  Watch your words, dear reader.  Observe each and every one for the perfection it is and you will be flooded by knowledge about the speaker.  How does one observe each and every word with excruciating detail?  Simple.  We relax.  All of this is beauty is flowing over us like rain.  We can't grasp it, but if we open up wide and just appreciate it, we will find everything we need.

"We kill the Batman" is actually the first thing I said in my head after I said "simple."