The Protests, and Why Forward Movement Is Needed

I am always about reform and change when the people are in support of it, and have valid grounds with which to push for it. But many causes are left in the dust because people gathered and were angry, but nothing went on beyond this. I have always believed that success is not measured in how far you got, but in how long your victory is cherished. Read more

Firelands Screenshots – World of Warcraft: Cataclysm

So I figured I’d share some of the screenshots from the Firelands environment (from World of Warcraft – Cataclysm) I took on my computer. 1080p, free to use/reuse, just credit me as “photographer” and Blizzard Entertainment as proprietor of art.

Ruins

I had written this many, many years ago. I believe I was 20 at the time, and I really hadn’t taken the time to proofread over go over my work at all. I am putting this up here for comparison in the writing styles that I had then, to what I have now.

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I awoke in a tent slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dark. It was night, and the wind was flapping against the tent, and I could hear the low talk outside. My ears strained to hear what was being said, and soon I heard all I wanted to hear for the past two years.
Victory.
The war was over.
I heaved a heavy sigh. I would finally go back home to Azironia, and see my friends and family. The idea excited me so much, I sat up. But the wounds hindered me, and I was back down on the cot. Soon I remembered everything I was involved in. The last battle was very hard and long; spells being cast, swords sparking, and peoples war cries that echoed in my ears. At the time, I was in my Elven primal state, a berserker rage, that cut through most that stood in my way. I picked up wounds doing so, and this was where I was being cared for.
But I couldn’t help but smile. The Great War was over, and I could go home. Home in the Elven wood of Azironia.
I looked around in the tent for my clothing and Elvish blades. I found both lying next to the cot, and slowly I picked up the blades. As I did, the rune-insribed blades faintly glinted in the candlelight.
I looked down at myself, examining my wounds. Apparently I fought well, as I had only one slightly big gash in my chest, but that was all, spare the scratches I earned. I leaned over to pick up my cloak, and I picked up some pouches containing herbs I would use to help heal myself with.
I pulled out some of the herb, and slowly stuffed it under the gauze, feeling the wet, swelling sore that had been dressed. Making sure I distributed it evenly, I pulled out my hand and wiped off the ooze with a towel nearby.
I was beginning to close my eyes when someone approached my tent. I was forced to squint my eyes from the light glowing from the camp fires as the tent was drawn open. I did not know who it was, even when the voice spoke to me.
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The Hike to Bismarck Lake

(Most photos taken by Sidney. Feel free to click on them and enlarge accordingly.)

So recently, Sidney and I decided to have a hike out in the woods. I had done some quick research and found pictures of an absolutely gorgeous lake called Bismarck Lake. As we were heading to Flagstaff, I decided to throw it out that we leave early and get some hiking out of the way before we settled in for the evening with friends at a house. The landscape was absolutely gorgeous.

In order to get to this trail, you head out on highway 180 northbound. You’ll come across Hart Prarie road, aka FR 151. You then proceed east on it for some time. FR 627 will be on your right. Take it to the end, and you come across Bismarck Lake trailhead.

As we started heading north on the highway out of Flagstaff, we encountered a nice thunderstorm. It helped remind us that we were definitely out of Phoenix and in the high country. We were amongst a few other cars heading into the weather, but the smell was amazing. The soaked ground, combined with the pine permeating the air, gave a great reminder of where I grew up and enjoyed being in. Soon enough, we came across the road (which I had to make an abrupt and bumpy stop for, as it was quite sudden).

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Wrought Iron, Chapter One

Somewhere, between the unrelenting clouds that blew snow around the trees, and the horizon that rose into mountainous cascades, the moon shone through occasionally. Its gaze descended through the flakes of snow that whipped about the trees, refracting itself off of the falling powder, and kissed its glow off the incandescent surface that gradually deepened as the night wore on. Though the terrain was flat, and the trees tall, no matter of earth would protect the woodland creatures or the ground from which it harvested from the cold bite of winter. This reminder of Skimir’s journey was no less harsh than the last.

No woodland creature dare come out into this cold blight that had set itself upon the land. Even the castle village that lay up on the hills to the west, while glowing with fires, was as still as ice outside, spare the wind that would rouse whistles from cracks and corners. Through the weather, though, trudged a man who may have been discounted a fool by most. No other man would dare brave this weather; yet his leather cloak and boots, his giant sword carried on his back, and the gloves, all black, seemed to be animated by a force that held no regard for the elements that tried to punish him for coming out. He moved forward steadily, only slowed by having to pick his feet up out of the hole they had created in the snow to step forward. The snow– it seemed, was in agreeance with the wind. Each step it tried to trap this broad and tall man, and each step it groaned as he successfully wrestled his foot from its grasp.

The man, unseen beneath his cloak, came upon a timber line, clearing out enough for him to gaze castle-ward, peering briefly before adjusting the leather mask he had applied to protect his face. Even though the moon shone bright at him, the cloak of this man seemed to devour the light before it reached his face, leaving him almost unrecognizable to any other that may see him. Slowly he trudged onward towards the village, eventually making an ascent of several hundred feet up trails where the wind tried even harder to combat him. But the man held no attention to its efforts, his feet now less hindered on the mountainside where the snow simply swept away.

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A small trek in the woods

A venture recently with my friend, Sidney. Chronicled is her first visit to the woods in some years. Unedited, because this was a lazy, relaxed trip.


The Weight of the Juror

In all sincerity, I have not paid attention to the Casey Anthony trial. I did not want to pay attention to it, because I was boycotting the attention it was receiving. I was boycotting the way the media was intricate about reporting every move, and making it so huge. And now, one of the jurors is afraid for her life because of the judgement call her and others had made.

There are so many groups out there that want justice for the Casey Anthony trial. It’s understandable; no girl should be robbed of a promising life. But neither should a juror that made a call in the justice system that has made the call that someone is not guilty. I see Facebook groups popping up, independent comments about how the mother and jurors should be lynched and murdered, and how the justice system “just doesn’t do right.” To those of you who are a part of this prejudicial wave, I have three words for you:

Go Fuck Yourself. Read more

I Need a Waking Day to Fall Asleep

I’ve been mulling over this all day. Though I had a good weekend working on my truck recently, I also had an eye-opener to the thoughts and thought circles on my mom’s side. Particularly, with her and friends (?) that she had kept for a while. My own brother expressed his concerns to me about how mom had been acting lately. I know I am at risk of her (and everyone else involved) reading this, and facing a form of exile as a result, but if it goes unsaid, it’s going to fester and a good friend of mine reminded me of the medicine I had once given her: “There are two people you need to think of first: you and yourself.”

So, mom and anyone else contained in here, I love you dearly. But I feel as if I needed to process my thoughts after hearing both sides, seeing everything from the impartial perspective I was brought up to hold onto so I could see everything clearly. And tonight, I am calling it like I see it. If you remember how you raised me, you’ll understand. I am afraid of this being the beginning of worlds being torn apart, mine included. So each word I type… is probably the heaviest I will have ever typed to this point. Read more

Hunt, Part 2

Ed came up behind me. “Dude, you all right?”

I looked over at him. He was trying to search for some kind of response to what just happened. I knew I had a look of regret on my face. “Yeah, I am good. Just worried about the girl.” I was hoping that would cover it.

“Yeah, looks like she’ll be okay. She was hitting on some premium grade pot. Looks like this guy had all kinds of premium shit. Meth, pot, ex… you name it, it’s in there. But it’s good.” He stepped in front of me, looking back into the room. “Hey, Ty, the girl said she heard the growling too, but that it was coming from you.”

I looked back into the room for a moment. They were getting her a wool blanket. Her eyes averted mine when I looked at her. “We still have to see if she was really just smoking pot, Ed. You know how it goes.” She hadn’t. I could smell it. But it would buy me some time.

“Yeah, I know,” Ed replied. After a few moments, “You know Anderson is gonna be on your case about this tomorrow. You keep feeding him ammunition for him to shoot at you.”

“Fuck Anderson,” I fired back. “I’d give him ammo for a Desert Eagle and he’d find a way to make it into pellets. I’ll deal with him when the time comes.” Anderson was the sergeant’s assistant at the cop shop. I had no idea why he was there, except to piss people off. I turned back to Ed. “Who’s chatting with the neighbors?”

“I’ll get some guys on it.” He left back down to the stairwell. Everything sunk in around me again. The rain outside, the cops talking, the people down the hall guessing what it could be. The rats in the wall. It was time to leave. I started heading towards the stairwell. I took a few steps down it.

“…he probably won’t be dealing around here anymore.” Read more

I’m not asocial, I am anti-people

So I went to Z-Tejas earlier, just to grab some grub and talk with a few people. I didn’t realize how packed it was going to become in the next few hours. As more people started crowding around the bar, I became quieter. I was listening to them… and realizing how shallow-thinking a lot of people can be. The only person I could kind of relate to was the black guy sitting at the end of the bar, who was minding his own business and seemingly doing the same thing. What made me put out my card to leave, though, were the people. Read more

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