Upside Down

I’m upside down
My feet in the air,
Head on the ground.
Wasn’t supposed to be this way.
Didn’t realize I was that attached.
Didn’t see she was my center.

Now I’m detached,
Free falling with no clue
What to do, to chase or wait?
But to give utterance is villainy
For I am the villain, I am a destroyer
And I am destroyed.

You were my glue. You kept me together. Then you dissolved, and you dissolved me with you, because I made you my world.

And it doesn’t make sense.
I screwed myself again.
And it’s empty.
Upside down.


Bad Romance

This weekend has been a good one for my pursuit of all things literary. My edits for an anthology game back as enchanting and charming, witty and adorable. I was informed my editor at points forgot she was supposed to be editing because she was that pulled in. I had an old high school buddy finish reading my fantasy novel. I was terrified because he’s an avid reader and very particular. He thought it was good, entertaining, with a few fixes required. He said there were slow spots, it wasn’t perfect, but for my second novel, and first one to see the light of day? I will take a “it was mostly entertaining and well done.”

I also finished one map and started two others for the novels. They’re looking insane. I’m in love with how they’re turning out, and they expand upon the novels. For G’desh, the novel only covers about 10% of what is on the map, giving plenty of play space in the future for stories. So basically my stories have been on my mind all weekend, and waking up this morning, I thought, “Maybe I can take a day off and continue this writing kick.”

However, while in the shower Sunday, I was thinking heavily on my stories, primarily my romances. When little, friends and family always asked why there were romances in my prose. They said it’s not always required, especially the flowery, romantic gibberish I was writing. I was a hopeless romantic, love was such a beautiful thing, I was the Bohemian trying to find his soulmate.

But, just like Christian with Satine, I was disillusioned by love. Over, and over, and over again. My lover didn’t die a horrible death, work a brothel, and so on. They just kept ditching me. Apparently after a while, that works its way into a hopeless romantic’s heart, until all that’s left is hopeless.

I say this because as I was reflecting on the love stories in my series, the love stories in future books, I saw a handful of relationships which were broken and filled with vitriol. Cheating, lying, attempted murder, murder, passive-aggressive behavior. I think I have one happy ending, and it’s really a Pyrrhic victory.

The last real love story I wrote, that was romantic and beautiful, I have been flirting with the idea of rewriting it. That’s what got me to thinking. It was about a scribe and baker who run off due to political persecution. Two normal people in a fantasy world persevering through love. It was gag worthy romance.

When I reworked it, due to what it was based on, I thought of doing a more caustic story. Two lovers, making a vow to be together forever, accidentally step into a curse. Despite a rather nasty break up, they find they’re immortal and doomed to cross paths again and again throughout history, each meeting being equal parts solving a problem, and trying not to kill each other. It would more or less go from a Rome setting, all the way up to a sci fi setting, with megalopolises.

Our main character, the man, just wants to die. Not the point of suicide: he feels he has a purpose and has to fulfill it. Yet every day he just begs for an end. And after a century without seeing his lover, he wonders if she finally was given a way out. And as I conjured this little tale in the shower, I realized how horrifyingly depressing it was. How it was filled with hopelessness. And I pondered if all my love stories were filled with such melancholy. When I realized they were all crushing, it made me think maybe I need a new approach to love. Maybe I need to force a happy love story. Maybe next time.

Two Years

You said I’d change in two years
Said that I’d move on in two years
Couldn’t go off on your adventure,
For fear I wouldn’t be here.

I’m still here after two years,
Couldn’t heal after two years,
Still have all my pain
Still have all my fears.

And you left me here.

I’ve always known I’ve had depression. I’ve had it a good long while. It can be very crippling, like now. Now is pretty crippling. I didn’t even realize why until WordPress told me it was my two year anniversary about two weeks back. I created this blog a week or two before the most painful break up I’ve experienced. I’ve been single since then.

To this day it bothers me. It hurts. A lock was put over my heart, and no one gets in. And I don’t get it. It’s been two years. I get over this by now. I’ve found someone new by now, even if it was two weeks long. Sometimes I wonder if that relationship was my last chance. If she was my last shot. Because I couldn’t make it work, I’m stuck with a life of writing, godparenting, and mission trips. It’s not horrible, by any means. There are significantly worse fates. But it’s been pretty hard getting to sleep these past few nights. It gets really hard to be motivated when no one’s there to say it’ll be okay. I mean, my parents would, but it’s not the same.

I am a naturally happy person. When I get drunk I’m all giggles, but I don’t want to be a drunk. When I fart I’m giggles. I’m okay with farting. I know the depression will lessen, I do not have suicidal thoughts, I know what my purpose is, my trust is in God and He has been pretty good to me, but it just hurts. A lot. While I’m grateful November no longer held any power over me, it seems late January is a cesspit of painful reminders.

Romance Moves Me

I have no shame. There’s no reason to, I’d rather you all know who I am, and while I can’t get behind some chick falling in love with a cowboy, I can totally get beyond two sword masters fighting to save 6,000 souls in a digital world, and they fall in love, have (more or less) a child, and fall upon horrible times. Heart wrenching times. I’m bawling. I’m not kidding. About twenty minutes ago I was bawling like a small child while eating chocolate and finishing off an airplane sized Jagermeiester.

Here is the break down of how this all worked out, as I do my best to dissect this animated masterpiece through my warm tears.

The anime starts with a creepy premise where all these people are stuck in a virtual world, and to get out they have to win. Otherwise, when you die in the game, you die in the real world. This kid goes solo, helping people in these small stories, but also watching people die. It gets to him. The kid is 16. Of course it gets to him.

Then he meets a girl. They fall in love. I’d be happy to watch them for the rest of their life living out a digital family. But things happen, my heart is rent in two, and at the end of the day, I just want to see them get married. I don’t care about anything else. No one else matters. They need to wake up, meet up, and have tons of babies because they’re that adorable and I’m living vicariously through them. Because I want to meet a woman in a virtual world, kill minions with her, and have babies, while living in a cabin on the lake.

So we get to the mid season episode. Of course it has to rip your heart out and show it to you while it continues beating, spurting out the blood which sustains you. As I died inside, my brother shoots me a message, “Raid?”

What!? Raid!? Love is on the line. Lives are on the line. Adorable little geek children are on the fracking line and you want to do a raid!? I care little for loot and saving a world which will not kill all the players inside it! I need to know how this love story ends! In 15 episodes, I’ve forgotten this is an action story. All I care about is the love story. All I want to see is these two in each other’s arms.

When in college, anime and manga were my fall back. Usually it was after a break up. I would buy tons of volumes. Love Hina. Negima. Tsubasa. I read it for the romance. It made me laugh and cry. It awakened my heart when it was dead. But I did not come to SAO with such expectations. Yet surely it did deliver.

So I’m off to write a fantasy romance novel. My heart screams for it. Happy writing.

Fix Me

Why don’t you fix me?
I can’t help myself.
Why don’t you fix me?
You know I’m fading still.

Fix Me, Icon For Hire

Gears ground together, poorly lubricated and having accumulated much dirt in the grimy underbelly of Torzikov. The once beautiful brass finish of his plated body was now tarnished from the soot and extreme heat being so close to a lava river. His left eye died long ago, the blue illumination which he perceived through now a blackened, useless orb. Several occasions caused him to want to pluck it out, but while his strength failed due to leaky fluid veins, the mount for his eye was as strong as ever.

He struggled through the compact tenements to his master’s workshop. He never understood why she remained down in the pits, or why she refused to fix or dismantle him for parts. With AI still intact by some strange, machine god miracle, he asked several times. Every time, though, he was dismissed to fetch parts, or she left the room never to bring up the subject again. There was some glimmer in her eye, he thought, when she looked at him. It was equal parts fondness, hatred, and pity.

The workshop took up the entire bottom two floors of a building. Each building lifted up into the black sky, becoming the foundation for the city proper some hundred feet up. Structural supports would creak under the strain of holding up the nobility, the people of means, and he knew master could go up there at any time. She had a pass, there were petitions from hopeful patrons so that she would make them great works of comfort and beauty. Every time, she turned them away in a lavish way. But a no was a no, and every business suitor would send a dejected follow up letter. Some were wrathful, others mournful. A few became arrogant that she could not be as talented as the myths surrounding her, and others told her she was a lava drowned fool without a sense of the finer things.

A bell above the door rang when he entered. If that didn’t give him away, surely the whirling sounds of his ill-maintained parts would. A gear snagged, and clanked in a repetitive cadence. Master said, “Put the parts on table three.” She didn’t look up from her welding, the bright blue flame hypnotizing to the one good eye of the clockwork man.

When he put the box down, the gear was still snagging. He could feel it grinding down the brass. Soon his right arm would have severely limited functionality. A quick thunk to his arm, and the gear stopped snagging, spinning as it was meant to. But he was aware of his body, and he knew the gear wouldn’t last much longer.

Again he looked to his master as she worked on some modern marvel, no doubt. It would help the people down below and give them a new life, one with as much ease as the gentry up above. Or so he hoped.

He said, “I have delivered the box.” The voice was a metallic sound, faded from his younger days ten years, three months, and fourteen days ago. Four years, five months, and two days ago she stopped promising a new voice box.

She looked up for a moment, and even through her goggles he could make out her eyes. They were beautiful, and exquisite masterpiece no doubt put there by her own master, her own creator. However, after near forty years, her creator continued to maintain her, or gave her the ability to maintain herself. If only she cared that much about her clockwork servant. The pump for his lubricants felt strange, a pull on it like something was wrong. However, a quick internal diagnostics showed nothing to be the matter.

She said, “I saw. Did you need something?” The blue flame of her torch guttered and died.

Something came over the brass man at that moment. He blurted out, “Fix me.”

The words pulled again on the valves and pumps in his chest. Was his AI giving him new sensations? It had been a while before he absorbed new information, and rarely did he ever bring in emotional stimuli.

She gave out a quick snort of laughter. “No,” she said, then took her ignitor and clicked it a few times in front of the nozzel of her torch until it caught and sparked a blue flame.

“Please. I am fading. I am blind. My liquids are near empty, my gears worn and chipped, and even my AI is acting strangely.” He approached her, moving his arms clumsily. Though the gear caught again, it was not making movement in his right arm easy as the machine tried to find the right movement again.

This gave her pause. Then she turned off the torch and put it down, lifting up her goggles. It was difficult to notice, but there were thick soot lines which showed how dirty her face actually was. “What do you mean your AI is acting strangely?” She approached him and started to look into his eyes, though spending the greatest amount of time on his left. “Your eyes dilate.”

“What? What does it mean, master? What does it mean that it feels like the pumps and valves in my chest are being tugged on most painfully. I should not feel pain.”

She dug around for a screwdriver and opened up his chest plate. All his workings were working just fine, if aged and leaky, but they were all in place. “This is excellent. This is great news.” She kissed his cheek and steam blew out of the back of his head. Never had her lips pressed against him. “On the table with you. I need to make a phone call.”

He went to lay on the table, waiting, his chest exposed, still aching. His master picked up the phone, a new invention of the past few years, newer than he was, and she said, excitedly, “Doctor Hostoff, please. Yes, I’ll wait.” There was impatient tapping of her foot. “Dimitri, it’s Alexandria. You won’t believe it. He’s feeling emotions.” Another pause. “Of course I’m talking about our brass man. He is feeling emotional pain. We did it. I’ll bring him right up in the morning. Need to polish him up first, make him serviceable.” A pause. “Of course it was worth it, and Dimitri, don’t question my methods. AI isn’t a human. We can treat them as we please. I’ll see you in the morning. Be waiting at the university.”

The clockwork man understood. He was being used, a tool to his master. In the early days she said she loved him. But that was many years ago, he thought, as she approached him with glee, and started to work on repairing his countless broken parts. It felt like his chest sprung a lubricant leak, yet he never looked so shiny.


A – Z April: I

Upon my heart here was a tart
And I loved her so. She came
Around a few times a day,
We talked and romance starts.

Emotions created beautiful weave
As steam between us there was.
Glass between us made a mirror
Of what we want, I couldn’t leave.

Great liars mirrors can make
Reflections ill aligned,
Difficult to see even with light
It’s so easy to create a fake.

Just like that you shattered glass,
Made me see the truth. You’re
A mess, and now I’m stressed,
Since I loved you. Now kiss my ass.

And so the mirror breaks.

And so the mirror breaks.

Note: This is hyperbole. I had someone I was close to. And recently she went really…weird. I had a thing for her, but the poem says it all.

Insanity Lost

So I was also hoping to do some Insanity. My apartment living room is clear enough. Then I realized that in the formatting of my hard drive, it’s all gone. Crap. So is life.

Strained and Stressed

My stomach clenches
As I wretch, nothing
Left inside me. My
Eyes grow weary,
I am teary, but I must
Postpone my emotional struggles.

I flee to the gym
And hop on machines,
Flexing my muscles
To exhaustion.
Once I am done,
It’s all been fun,
But mainly the tears,
They transform them.

I rejoice in every tear I cry
Through every pore in my body.
I relish in the glistening layer
Of weeping which makes me shine.
My eyes glaze over, my head it throbs,
It feels like it’s the end. But as I run
And as my head bobs, I flee from
All weights within.