Monthly Archives: October 2006

No bones.

We are such fragile creatures.  At any moment, a simple twist of fate could eliminate our existence.  One wrong turn, one second more, or less, and that is the end.  Some people take all sorts of chances, and some people are as careful as can be, and both may end up sharing a room at a retirement center somewhere near the everglades.  The man who jumped out of a plane on D-day, next to the man who won’t take a plane to Hawaii.  We are so fragile, and fate is so fickle.

Our flesh is so soft, and so penetrable.  Fire, metal, blunt force, all of these things will destroy us, given the proper application of such.  What a disappointment, to so easily be made a lemming.  We are all simply walking bubbles on a giant wrap, waiting to be popped.  Think what you like, believe in your gods, in your fate, but remember the anthill.

Above all, remember the dutiful ants, that work, and are crushed, and respawn, and continue on.  Kick down their hill, and they will rebuild, and they will find a new queen, and the hill will continue on, and there will be new workers.  Do ants mourn?  Do they commemorate their dead in some way that we as humans cannot see?  Or do they simply fall, and become replaced, much as we do, except for the elaborate rememberances in some cases. 

We are naught but individualized ants.  Some of us are clever ants, and some of us are stupid ants.  In the end, we all do whatever it is we do as part of the group, whether it is nothing, or it is something.  We are all the same.  Why?  Because we die.  Build all the statues you like, write me in a text book or two, show my film, over and over, and use my formulas to teach children spatial mechanics, and in the end, it ends.  You are still dead. 

All you can do, is hope it doesn’t hurt.  Too badly.

Yes, the old ones, the sad ones, who die in the homes, who die in their sleep, they, are the lucky ones.

The rest of us.  Will die screaming, or trying to.

Reality is a bitch.


Tobas circa 1994.

Topic :  How offensive can television get?


Very.  I would leave it at that, but I know you would not appreciate the lack of creativity on my part.  Violence and nudity never hurt anyone, well, maybe somebody, but it still is not a very big factor.  It certainly is not a factor when people commit crimes.  People are stupid, thats why they do things.  There is no other reason in my book.  People are just plain stupid.  If you disagree with me, I will tell you that you are stupid too, why, you ask?  Because simply the fact that it is true!


Topic: None


Sometimes I tend to get in a philosophical mood in which I manage to enrage myself to the point where I want to beat my own brains in.  But as of late, I find that I have been very moody.  I can see no sure for this vicious malady except for time.  The only problem with that is while I wait I am growing insane.  Somedays I am on top of the world, and somedays I am underneath it, but either way, it manages to end up sucking anyhow.


Topic:  How much freedom should an individual have…


I think an individual should have as much freedom as he goddamn pleases.  I think he should be able to go and beat somebody senseless with a bat and then stuff poles up their butt and not get in trouble.  If that were the case, I would be giving beatdowns and stuffing poles up peoples butts and out their mouths.  Eric Farron really is fun to strangle.  He is so irritating that I want to choke him for an eternity.  He has a skinny little pencil neck that I love to grab.


Topic: Which are you, lox or caviar?


I say that I am neither.  I say this because I find this to be a very stupid and boring topic that I am only writing about for the sake of my English grade.  I find that putting lox on my bagels is very repulsive and I also find that caviar on crackers is not a very delicious delicacy either. But if I had to choose I would say that I am caviar because caviar is a very rich and delicate food, kinda like me, disgusting but delicate.


I always contemplated deleting the myspace account I have, simply because they can be so troublesome.  The main reason I have not, is because it is a simple means of communicating and catching up, and I was able to use it to express my thoughts and tell stories.

Now, I have this, which may not be as easy as a myspace, but it still gets the job done.

So, getting rid of myspace should, in theory, be much easier now.

I have a long night ahead, which will give me plenty of time to contemplate this.

I hate feeling so mercurial, but it is not a complete shift, inside somewhere, I realize progress.

Aim True.

You can put a bullet in me,

And I will not disappear,

You can threaten me,

And I will not go anywhere,

Steadfast, is how I appear,

And that is no illusion,

You better come and kill me,

Because I am no illusion,

I am not afraid,

Because I know what is worth it,

So hate me all you like,

Think all you like,

Judge all you like,

And I will not disappear,

I know what is worth it,

One day, yes one day,

I will make sense,

I have seen this,

What you will see,

Inside I know this,

What I will be,

And it makes me not afraid,

No, I am not afraid,

Of you,

Or me,

So give me the fuel that I need,

Reinforce, what I need,

And what I see.

What makes me complete.

Origins .3

Present day…


Graham sat watching the news, sipping tea from a small china cup.  The stations were abuzz with the news of a potential serial killer, which was always good for network news.  The latest victim was the daughter of a prominent manhattan socialite.  It was always the same story, the victims would go to a wild party, do lots of drugs, and end up dead.  The problem was, it wasn’t the drugs killing them, and the police had figured it out.  Well, they hadn’t figured out too much, thought Graham, the method was still a mystery, and Graham knew that was not likely to change.  So far, the only description they had was of a caucasian male, approximately six feet tall, black hair, black eyes, and a penchance for well tailored black suits.

Graham preferred grey himself, but that went well with his silver hair and greenish, greyish eyes.  The reporter was now asking the lead detective for a statement, a man named Hicks.  “We have several leads in our case, the murders do appear to be connected, but we are still seeking further evidence.”  The reporter then asked him if the murders were done with a plastic bag, as some experts had been speculating.  “It was our first guess, but since we have been able to rule out asphixiation as a cause of death, that would not seem very likely at this point.”  The reporter seemed disappointed at this, he had been hoping to coin the name of this latest killer, ‘the shopping bag strangler’.  Hicks took that moment to move along, leaving the reporter frowning, and lost in thought.

Graham turned off the television at that point, he had seen enough.  This detective seemed intent on finding a solution, and as it had been in the past, it meant trouble.  He had a good idea who was behind all of this, but whether he approved or not was irrelevant.  In the past, anyone caught looking too closely had to be eliminated, and it seemed that Hicks was quickly becoming one of those.  Graham wondered if he would have to be the one to do it, or if the killer himself would do the job and save his own hide in the process.  He did not enjoy having to do that, but it was necessary at times for the sake of the others, the rogue would be hunted on their own terms, and put to justice in their way.  There were grave penalties for making a spectacle of yourself, and this time it would be no different.  They might be a powerful group, but there were still some left in this world who would hunt them down and exterminate them.  Normal humans were not much of a threat to them, but these individuals were no ordinary humans.

Graham touched his shoulder, it still ached from where that dead fighter had slashed him so many centuries ago.  He had barely survived that encounter, only escaping by falling several hundred feet into the ocean and being left for dead.  He had no desire to face anyone else from that group again.  He kept tabs on them, they managed to survive to this day, calling themselves “dead knights”, and periodically wiping out entire populations of soul eaters.  They had been careful so far, but he was not about to take any chances.  It was time to sweep this mess under the rug, one way or another.

It was so simple back in the old times, one just had to wait for the official to be in public, and then in a brief moment of vulnerability, wham!  Problem solved.  Graham sighed, well, first things first, he had to find the rogue.

Origins .2

The small outpost of Nafra was the third settlement founded after the time of the great death.  After the soul eaters had sufficiently cleared out the countryside, the people began to rebuild, relying on the eaters, and the weapons they infused with their power to defeat the occasional bands of dead that would roam into town from the wooded areas surrounding the small outpost.  The eaters would fill swords, and maces and arrowheads with the blue light, or sometimes a white light, it differed from eater to eater.  A group of elite “dead-fighters” were formed from the small town militia, they were highly trained and heavily armored and always alert for attacks from the dead.  Often, they would fight in tandem with the soul eaters, there-by preventing the eaters from taking innocents in the heat of battle.

Through a series of accidents, the soul eaters learned that it wasn’t just the dead who were susceptible to their deadly touch.  Even live, healthy humans would fall lifeless to the ground, were a soul eater to direct his or her power onto them.  It had not happened often, but it occured enough times that the humans became very wary of fighting alongside them. 

The heavily armored “dead fighters” had no such concerns, as their armor and skill kept them safe from the soul sucking bolts some of the soul eaters had learned to throw, they also discovered a secret, a terrible secret, that they told no one.  It was heavily guarded, and only known as, “the last resort”. 

One night, a dead fighter known as Scythis, was fighting in close quarters alongside a soul eater, he furiously swung his infused mace, braining the dead left and right, the eater reached back to throw a bolt and was clipped on his hand by the maces backswing, it distracted him, but he threw the bolt anyway.  The dead creature was hit square in the chest, and staggered, but did not fall.  Scythis, who had turned around to address a new threat, watched slack-jawed as the creature shook it off and continued forward.  That had never happened before, and even the eater was shocked, had he not been an eater, he would have surely been torn apart in the time he stood looking at his hands in wonder.  Scythis stored this bit of information and quickly ended the unfortunate creatures short run of luck.  He also noticed that when he brained this particular one, the mace practically sung with joy as he crushed its skull, and the head exploded rather more violently than he was used to.

The soul eater threw several more bolts at some stragglers, they fell, but several of them slowly began to rise, prompting Scythis to check the downed bodies, and administer the death blow when necessary.  He handled it as if it were routine, but the truth is, it had never been done before.  It had never had to be done.  The eater shrugged it off, and chalked it up to exhaustion, but Scythis knew better.  He felt something the second the mace touched the eaters hand, something changed, Scythis had felt stronger, and the mace felt lighter, and, he was a reasonable man, Scythis, a sturdy, practical man, but he could have sworn, the mace felt, alive.

…Second Wind

You wonder once again what the hell you are doing.  You find yourself arguing in a fashion that is alien to you, unable to communicate or even gain headway.  It is a cruel twist of fate, to feel as if reason has somehow abandoned you, and yet still feel as if you were perfectly reasonable.  Things accumulate, and feelings surface unbidden, and little by little you find yourself having more trouble coping as the days go by.  If you don’t want cheese on your big mac, you don’t want to hear the counter person try to convince you why cheese is a better choice, and make you feel dumb for not wanting cheese.

No, sometimes you just do not want to eat that fucking cheese, and you do not need to be asked why.

There are boundaries for everyone, a place where a line must be drawn in the sand, a marker that states, leave this alone.  Especially if it is something you are already sensitive about.

Batten down the hatches.

::Throws Towel::

Ok, today could have gone terribly awry.

It did not, well, in one way yes it did, but in the other, more crucial way, it was stable. 

She was so damn close, and yet there was no interaction.  Let’s not confuse this, I could care less, I just hate hiding, especially if I haven’t done anything wrong. 

I am exhausted, so it equals another short delay.  I need to filter the rest of the booze out of my brain.

Some people are so fucking annoying.


Thank you and goodnight.