Forget December.

So this Christmas, I have a choice.

I can have my integrity, or I can have my fiancee. One, but not the other.

They say 'tis the season, but they never say for what. They're only scared of the ugly truth, too cowardly to confront what they know and are too shamed to say out loud.

This is the time to bite your tongue, pretend to like the people you can't stand. This is the time to lie, the time to bring all these ugly blemishes to the surface and then cover them over as if no one knows that they exist.

This is a time for lies, a time for chaos, a time for pain, a time for old ugly wounds to gape open anew. This is a time to wish you were with the family you chose instead of the family you can't escape. This is a time for problems, a time for hurts, a time for the small cuts to burn all the worse.

Fuck December.

I can't wait for the new year, if only so this one will be over.

Stream of Consciousness

The most popular myth of all is that love by definition must be romantic. Sex is not the defining aspect of love: it is only one symptom of one facet of one grain of sand on an infinite beach which encompasses the seething ocean of all humanity. Given enough time and enough patience, an individual could learn to love each and every member of this tumultuous, ever-changing family which we all share in common - such is the message which has been passed down through age after age by all forms and variants of the messianic leader, and such is the message which is misunderstood, generation upon generation, by those so bound by fear they would attempt to shackle the heavens themselves in order to bar the stars from shining. Love is a blinding burst of brilliance, without limits, without age, without flaw. The real glory, however, comes not in admiring it from a distance, but in embracing it for what it is - a jewel of surpassing perfection in the palm of one's hand, a crystal palace of curving halls and winding stairs leading one ever upwards, an iridescent looking-glass through which only truth may be seen. Too, it should be cautioned that once embraced, love is not easily released: does the prisoner go willingly back to their cage? Does the flower return easily to the bud? Fear is a prison crafted by will, and love is the light which no manmade bars may contain.

Embrace love, abandon fear. All humanity is a forest, one living, breathing, cooperative organism, every man, woman, and child a sparkling light among the thousands of branching growths, all tangled and intertwined in a labyrinth of explosive, thriving beauty, hope, and optimism. For every leaf which falls from the branch, a new sprout springs hale from the undergrowth, two limbs previously unconnected touch and intertwine, roots mingle and burst uncaring through the soil, building layer upon layer of foundations for the generations to come, men standing upon the shoulders of giants upon the shoulders of titans gazing out upon a misty, unformed future.

To abandon fear is to learn; to learn is to grow; to grow is to become free; to be free is to love. Fear not any earthly demon of uncertain mists and wavering shadows - death comes for us all, and it greets us as we greet it, with irresistible, peaceful joy or overwhelming terror by turn. Mind, a bullet may no more slay an idea than a blade may cut the tides. Though violence wounds the wielder as certainly as the victim, scars fade and new strength grows from the crushing embrace of hope, the tender caress of compassion, and the steadfast support of love. Love granted not only for oneself, not only for the heady intoxication of fresh romance, but for the mighty wellspring of eternal mystery that is all of our shared heritage. Still waters run deep, and this fountain's depths may be plumbed only by those willing to abandon their fears, shed the weighty fears of their pasts, and allow the love which surrounds their every waking moment to be the very light that guides them, the very air which nourishes them. Even as one trips upon epiphany and falls into the sky, cherished by the stars which have watched over us since birth, with every breath of love, the voice of humanity shouts a mighty, wordless cry to the boundless deeps, the lonesome wilds, and the shining heavens alike with a single unmistakable message: Do not forget, and cherish always, the divine's most precious gift to its creation. Love, always and without reservation. Love without bounds, love without fear, love without limits, for love unfettered presents us with a beautiful paradox, an enigma of scented petals and crystal droplets: though love will vanquish all challenges set before it with effortless grace and poise, love advances and retreats only upon command of its host.

Wherefore shalt thou lead, noble child of a misty past? Fear not learning: love asks only a chance, only the slightest breath of hope. Given the opportunity, love will burst through years of rubble left by ancient hurts untended and wounds disregarded as if only freshly born, bringing color to a world long since gray with only a breath to brush away the dust of memories left by skirmishes almost forgotten, aches like old friends, and wounds closed, but never healed.

If one will but only dare to dream the dream of love, child, fear not: for all will be well.

Canby High School 2010 Graduation Ceremony Play by Play

Actual play by play Facebook wall posting from an audience member (that is, me) at the Canby High School Graduation for the graduating class of 2010, made via iPod Touch using the wireless connection available inside the Canby High School outdoors stadium. Each of these posts was made via the Facebook app for the iPhone & iPod touch, which means that each and every one of them had to fit within Facebook's 420-character limit, and be typed using the touchscreen of an iPod touch. Quite the experience, really...how the world has changed since my high school graduation! More importantly, though: Congratulations, seniors, you made it! Good luck with what lays ahead – I am sure that great things lie in store.

11:27 PM

[Author] is contentedly exhausted. Fantastic end to a truly craptacular week, & I can't even begin to describe in words just how staggered, flabbergasted, honored, & privileged I am feeling to be able to be present at Wailan Krebs' graduation today. Wailan, you're a great guy with some awesome potential. I can't wait to see what you accomplish in the coming years, & am more proud of you than words can describe!

8:36 PM

[Author] And we finish with Journey. 'Grats, Canby 2010, and congrats Wailan!

Friday, June 11th, 2010, 8:34:56 PM

[Author] Wailan graduates... NOW! Go Wailan!

(Author's note: for this post, the "share" button was pressed at the moment the students first reached for their tassels, so this is as close as I can come to the exact moment tassels were flipped & caps were tossed!)

8:34 PM

[Author] Beachball number five!

8:33 PM

[Author] Beachball number four!

8:25 PM

[Author] Beachball number three!

8:18 PM

[Author] Alright parents, tell the truth now - are you cheering that loud 'cause your kid(s) just graduated, or is it really just because they're finally going to be out of your house? =b

8:16 PM

[Author] Look, up in the sky, a shooting star! ...oh wait no, just kidding, someone just lost a balloon. lolwut.

Friday, June 11th, 2010, 8:15:03 PM

[Author] Woo, just saw Wailan cross the stage - all that's left is flipping that tassel!

8:11 PM

[Author] Just once, I want to go to a graduation where the names are read dramatically.

8:07 PM

[Author] Beachball number two has appeared!

8:03 PM

[Author] Here come the diplomas!

8:01 PM

[Author] (This is more familiar ground. I do remember wondering who that guy was at my own graduation 5 years ago, at the very least. 5 years ago... dang I feel old.)

7:59 PM

[Author] Principal's done, superintendent's turn. IIRC, this would be the guy in charge who none of the students actually know.

7:57 PM

[Author] THE FIRST BEACHBALL APPEARS!

7:55 PM

[Author] Principal's talking. Nostalgia. D'awww.

7:53 PM

[Author] From [fellow audience member]: "why is the music coming from behind us?" "There are speakers back there." "The band is in front of us." "Yes, the microphones magically move the sound from up here to back there. Isn't it amazing?!" "Shut up if you don't want to get hurt." Teehee. =b

7:47 PM

[Author] Speakers are done, now it's the band's turn. Needs moar cowbell.

7:46 PM

[Author] Almost lost the wifi connection (graduations have changed since mine!). Yikes. Got it back, though. Continuing...

7:43 PM

[Author] Analogy comparing high school to adventurous experience, speech based on quote from famous person. Yep, this is a graduation ceremony, alright!

7:41 PM

[Author] Moar talking.

7:29 PM

[Author] Yay, singing!

7:28 PM

[Author] First speaker - reminds me of that old song by The Who. How did that go? "Talkin' 'bout my graduation!" ...Something like that, anyway, right?

7:25 PM

[Author] Okay, sitting down for real now, listening to welcome address from the class president.

7:21 PM

[Author] Sitting down and clapping now, processional's over...and just kidding, standing again for the national anthem. Facebooking during the anthem, all hail Cyberspace! =b

7:12 PM

[Author] is standing for the processional, and just saw Wailan. Love the hat!

6:01 PM

[Author] is at Wailan's graduation. Congrats, dude, you made it!

Poetry - A Madman's Desire

Fragile Victories
Each time I open my eyes, I wake up to do war with my own nature.
Every second is a battle, every night is a victory.
Fear, anxiety, doubt, hopelessness...
Depression is a hard master, but one which cannot be surpassed for his ability to temper and harden the supple steel of one's soul.
Enemies I embrace, and when enemies become friends, from friends I flee: for I am a man with death riding upon my shoulders.

Crumbling Towers
Life must, by necessity, challenge -
Else we remain nothing more than lost:
Mere mewling babes crawling and stumbling
Through the debris shattered and broken
Of our ruined lives for all eternity.

Dryden's Folly
The strongest man alive is only he
who has daily surmounted a fear
til no fear remains:
the wisdom of Dryden, though
lacks just one vital ingredient:
without fear, a man must die
for when there is nothing left to fear,
there is nothing left to learn.

Escape
Life wearies me.
I long for the hurtling moons of Barsoom, for the Cyclopean architecture of lands long lost, for vistas yet unseen and lives yet unlived.
I long for green meadows underneath my feet and warm, alien suns multiply shining upon my face,
softening the lines drawn upon it by the ravages of long, full years.
Death, you ride upon my shoulders, you chuckle soft, sweet nothings in my ear:
yet ever you shrink from my longing embrace.
Why must you commit to such sweet torture,
tempting us with nectar; the gods' ambrosia;
just beyond a mortal's reach,
Yet slip away in the night
like the guiltiest of lovers
just when we desire you most?

Sanity's Prison
When all fear is exhausted
there is only the vast and formless void
tempting us with vague hints of unnatural worlds,
with strange stars under alien skies.
The deepest madness is that which realizes itself, and yet cannot break the bars of this earthly cage!

Truth
None lie closer to madness
than the completely sane.

Shades of Meaning
Genius is simply a euphemism -
A gentle lie,
for those who burn the wick of sanity at both ends -
of course the light is brighter,
but must you wonder when the flame begins to waver?

The Most Familiar Face
Death rides upon my shoulders
waiting, ever waiting
vulture-like, sharp eyes watching
for just one moment
a moment of frailty, moment of weakness,
savoring fear, feeding upon apprehension:
and yet when the bonds of sanity break
when the chains fall to dust
I turn to embrace her,
breaking all limits;
all physical bounds
plummeting towards her with reckless abandon
Yet just when I can see her face
At that fragile point where the veil is weakest
She withdraws, pulling back yet again
what lie is this, promising eternal peace
Yet one more time
Giving just the taste of ecstasy
allowing just moments upon that razor's edge
living in one world, peering into the next
Only to withdraw, giving nought
but the gift of stealing away my fear
if only for today?

The Palace Guard
Fear is but a guard
Death's own gatekeeper
A menacing mask
All mirrors and illusion
Casting shadows, playing at puppet games
Break the mirrors
Light the shadows
Cut the strings
For the greatest reward:
Just one glimpse
of her beautiful face;
No longer a mere destination;
Now a goal.

Liberation
Only one thrill left for one who has conquered fear of death:
Liberty through madness.

Pacific
A day without rain is without beauty;
a day without sun, without joy.

...also known as ah, how I miss it.

Keep in mind, this writing is four years old. Be gentle with it, please!

The Story Begins...

The wind lightly rustled the leaves somewhere deep in the forests of Avalon. A slim, athletic shape lightly tread upon the firm cushion of leaves carpeting the ground, silently weaving through tightly knit branches and lush curtains of vines gently swaying from the trees above. Easily gliding through the labyrinth of greenery, the shape's feet left no impression in the soft loam, and its passing disturbed nary a twig.
The shape paused in a small clearing, almost as if it were checking some undetectable sign or ascertaining the location of some invisible trailhead. As sunlight filtered through the leaves of the canopy above, details of the shadowy figure became clear - long light brown hair was tied in a braid that hung down to a slim masculine waistline. A lean, muscular torso was covered by a plain dark brown tunic, centering a wiry, athletic build. There was a sharp, clean-shaven face, tanned and weathered by years of exposure. Hazel eyes sparkled green and brown, and upon closer examination in the right conditions, revealed a haunting combination of pain and sadness deep within. Slim, pointed ears, a confident, practiced stride, and an almost unearthly grace, coupled with a rapier strapped to one hip and a supple, powerful longbow slung across the figure's back completed the impression of a lethally agile Avalonian ranger.
Abruptly, the ranger chose a direction seemingly at random and disappeared into the forest, making his way through the thick undergrowth with an easy, purposeful stride. As he disappeared into the forest, a very sharp observer may even have noticed a slight crook at the corner of his mouth, almost as if one side of his mouth was turning up in a half smile sharp enough to cut adamantine like butter.
The famed ranger Erowyn - cool, calculating, precise, lethal - seeking refuge from this senseless war at the hiding place of his childhood. What would my comrades think of me now?
If the birds at that moment could speak, they would have told a tale of a living weapon - a man honed to razor precision, able to kill with the flick of a wrist or the twitch of a finger. They also would have told a tale of a haunted man - one who had seen entirely too much killing, and had acquired a palpable aura of grief and sorrow that followed in his steps. The flowers themselves almost seemed to weep shimmering tears of dew at his passage as he gently brushed them aside on his way through the forest. A man alone, with no refuge to grant him relief from the ghosts of his past, no companions to share his burden. This was a man who had chosen his path in life, and was now paying the price for the choices he had made.
If only they could see me now - all those that I've killed before. What would their faces say? I wonder if they would blame me for their senseless deaths, or if they would grant me amnesty based on this gruesome slaughter they call a holy war. Would they see the pain their tragedies cause? Would they see the children they left behind, the lovers and family, that I so cruelly deprived of comfort and stability in a world already rife with discontent? Or would they simply see me - these cold dark eyes, memorizing their faces as they are pierced by my blade or the unforgiving shafts that fly from my bow?
Silently traveling through the forest, alone with his troubled thoughts, Erowyn Landolier, ranger of Avalon, strode the only path he had ever known - one of solitude, filled with the pain of others, all the grief that others could not bear resting on his weary shoulders.
After several hours alone with his thoughts, constantly moving, stopping at neither obstacle nor exhaustion, he emerged from the thick woods into a clearing, sparkling with strange lights rising from a peaceful pool in the midst of ancient trees overgrown with moss. Very little sunlight penetrated here, and yet a comforting light seemed to emanate from the pool itself. As he walked into the clearing, a sudden observation brought his steps to an abrupt halt.
There was somebody else here.
Sparkling, eery notes twirled from her harp, oddly comforting and yet tragic at the same time. Dark brown hair cascaded down her back, shimmering in the odd light. The glow of the pool illuminated pale skin, and a cloak covering several daggers and a bow lay discarded nearby. A pale horse grazed on the other side of the pool, as an eerily beautiful voice lifted notes in a language just beyond comprehension.
Standing stock still, completely silent except for the breath entering and leaving his lungs, Erowyn simply stood and listened for several long moments, savoring the temporary ease the music seemed to bring. Slowly exhaling, he crossed to the edge of the pool, staying a respectful ten feet or so away from the newcomer, and sat at the edge. Not looking at her, he removed his boots and slipped his feet into the crystalline shallows. Pausing, he looked at her for one long moment, and then shrugged off his tunic and slid into the water...
Savoring the feel of the cool liquid over the scarred muscles of his abdomen, back, and chest, he submerged completely and simply floated, content to lay in the crystal suspension for several long moments. His muscles beginning to loosen, Erowyn relaxed and allowed himself to gently float upwards. As his head slid out of the water, smoothly breaking the surface, he languidly turned, treading water in the shimmering pool. Continuing the turn, he faced the newcomer, studying her for several moments in the calming glow of the clearing.
Pausing briefly, Erowyn bowed his head in a short, courteous nod, speaking in a quiet voice, almost overloud in the silence of the wood.
"I am Erowyn Landolier, ranger of Avalon. My apologies for the interruption."