The dreams blossomed each night for several weeks, the colors and scents twining through the night hours and fading with the morning light. Each night seemed like a series of different petals, different flowers, but all a part of the same ethereal garden.
In the long dream he was a boy, almost a man, with peach fuzz above his top lip. Since he could remember, he had felt the Call, a knotted chord of color that strummed in his heart. When he closed his eyes he could see the source beyond Thresh and knew he would go there.
He was a little older and taller. The Call was a knotted chord of changing colors strumming in his heart and forehead. He could see the source without closing his eyes and it was far from where he lived.
When he closed his eyes he could see tiny heartbeats of color and he knew he wasn't the only one who could see-hear the Call. He imagined mutual waves of recognition. He opened his eyes and he was at the beginning of the great desert, Thresh. The white towers and buildings of Winnow rose above the desert sands. He knew his future was there within the halls that housed the source.
He dreamed nights and nights of the desert, awakening relieved to go to work and to be away from the howling sunlight, the serrating wind, and the countless grains of sand. The Call was always over the next hill.
One night he fell asleep, resolved to trudge again through the thorns and thistles of his dream scape, but he stood at sundown in front of Winnow looming above him, the towers black against the glare of the rumbling sun. The wind was gone and the Call was a constant strum in his heart, forehead, and fingertips. He could feel the other Called at their places around Winnow's perimeter. He didn't know if he would be first, if he would be the chosen one, if he could even dare believe he was the wunderkind. He looked at the three doors into Winnow first with his eyes, then with his heart, and then with his fingertips. The first door wore the scratches of red-thorned roses. The second door was the gray silence of his funeral. The last door thrummed in prismatic tandem with the Call. Daylight sent morning glory tendrils through the dream scape and he awoke knowing this was only the beginning test.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Conrad Aiken: Morning Song of Senlin
I discovered a poem by Conrad Aiken in one of my undergraduate American Literature classes that I've never forgotten. Below is that poem that I have literally carried with me in my back pocket or hung on my office at work or home.
Senlin: A Biography
The Morning Song
-Conrad Aiken (August 5, 1889 - August 17, 1973)
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie.
Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chips in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And tie my tie once more.
While waves far off in a pale rose twilight
Crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:
How small and white my face ! —
The green earth tilts through a sphere of air
And bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars
And stars hung under a sea. . .
And a sun far off in a shell of silence
Dapples my walls for me. . .
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
Should I not pause in the light to remember God?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!
I will think of you as I descend the stair.
Vine leaves tap my window,
The snail-track shines on the stones,
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree
Repeating two clear tones.
It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence,
Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening,
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.
The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,
The stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,
Unconcerned, I tie my tie.
There are horses neighing on far-off hills
Tossing their long white manes,
And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
Their shoulders black with rains. . .
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And surprise my soul once more;
The blue air rushes above my ceiling,
There are suns beneath my floor. . .
. . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness
And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,
My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,
And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,
And a god among the stars; and I will go
Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak
And humming a tune I know. . .
Vine-leaves tap at the window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
Senlin: A Biography
The Morning Song
-Conrad Aiken (August 5, 1889 - August 17, 1973)
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie.
Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chips in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And tie my tie once more.
While waves far off in a pale rose twilight
Crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:
How small and white my face ! —
The green earth tilts through a sphere of air
And bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars
And stars hung under a sea. . .
And a sun far off in a shell of silence
Dapples my walls for me. . .
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
Should I not pause in the light to remember God?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!
I will think of you as I descend the stair.
Vine leaves tap my window,
The snail-track shines on the stones,
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree
Repeating two clear tones.
It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence,
Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening,
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.
The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,
The stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,
Unconcerned, I tie my tie.
There are horses neighing on far-off hills
Tossing their long white manes,
And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
Their shoulders black with rains. . .
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And surprise my soul once more;
The blue air rushes above my ceiling,
There are suns beneath my floor. . .
. . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness
And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,
My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,
And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,
And a god among the stars; and I will go
Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak
And humming a tune I know. . .
Vine-leaves tap at the window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Safyre: Dragonsong
Note: I am indebted to Kate Bush for her song, "The Red Shoes", of which I borrowed certain elements and very specific lines as the basis of the story. I'm also indebted to Neil Gaiman and his incredible writing of living and undying archetypes, particularly his old gods of desire. I find it strangely disconcerting that a mythical song, stories about old gods, and the MMORPG "Asheron's Call" could inspire a story. I hope the execution lives up to the intention. Happy reading.
Safyre III: Dragonsong - the Nature of Enchantment. Here are Part I (Premonitions) and Part II (Actualities).
Dragonsong, newly apprenticed to Karadryel, stared at Safyre over the rim of his wine glass held between his hands, as if in prayer. The absurd idea of running directly through a half-dozen Shadow Lieutenants, Umbris, and Panumbris Shadows, after already being pelted by rocks thrown by Gigas Lugians and somehow resisting six spells in the space of 5 seconds?...One had hit her with a Vulnerability spell, but by then she had run many meters clear of them. And she was sitting here to tell them about it.
"You don't believe me," she stated, not even raising an eyebrow as was her wont, but pausing to sip her wine and ring the crystal with a delicate finger, the crystal hummed softly. He looked across the table at Karadryel, but his master avoided Dragonsong's eyes while trying to control the smile that would somehow not leave his face.
Dragonsong shuffled his feet and reflected on the clear red wine in the glass; he knew he should have schooled his face, instead of lapping up the stories like a thirsty pup that were going around the table.
She laughed aloud, and even Karadryel could not repress his chuckle. "Oh Dragonsong, the whole world was strange to me when I came to Dereth, too. That mystery exists here, is it any more of a surprise than mystery from whence you came?" Dragonsong met her startling eyes for a moment, then smiled at her, raising his glass to acknowledge her truth, while not knowing if he would experience such things, himself.
Twilight fell about them, the stars burning themselves into the expanses above their heads near the Festival Stone outside of Yanshi. Each of them enjoyed the exquisite wine as much as the sharing of their companionship and the night air holding them in a mantle of peace. He felt his heart beat back some few month's worth of sadness at the temporal nature of all things, then moved his thoughts to remembering his arrival into Dereth, his instant affinity for magic and enchantment, and pledging himself to the magical studies as Karadryel's student. His thoughts moved to his new and itchy Shreth pants, Scalvus leggings, breastplate and helm. He'd never considered himself as partially reptilian before, and he grinned slightly. And then the spells and studies with Karadryel. The study of enhancements. Enchantment. And he felt another memory rise in his mind.
He refilled their glasses, enjoying the silent eloquence of his master, the ever-changing sparkle (was she devil or angel, devil or angel, devil or angel?) in Safyre's eyes. He took a breath.
"The quests of Dereth that you both speak of, such as the Great Shadow Armor, or searching for Brandith's Staff, or assembling the pieces for the Impious Staff. I am intrigued, I am interested. But I am concerned, too." He watched both their eyes narrow, sure they had not anticipated this change in conversation.
"What is it, about the nature of gaining and getting? Is a gift or item not two-edged, like a sword? And are these gifts that take much effort, much sweat and blood... are these gifts not dangerous? For what price are these items gained?" Karadryel stared deeply at candlelight reflected in his crystal glass, his face impassive, but Dragonsong could feel his thoughts flowing deep, like a very wide river. He peered carefully at Safyre, who was weighing him and his words just as closely, her chin raised slightly, the smallest of frowns on her otherwise composed face.
"In the place before Dereth, I remember a woman. Belili." He watched as they settled deeper, more comfortably, into their makeshift chairs, which was fine with him because the name on his tongue overwhelmed him with memories of another place, another lifetime.
"Belili was a dancer. Beautiful, graceful, intelligent. When she performed, it was like watching... well... enchantment. Imagine a group of students, all mutual friends... we were like moths to the flame." He took a slow sip of his wine. "We all agreed that she moved like no other we had ever seen, and none of us were surprised by her fame. Not one of us. Or maybe she was always famous... the world just knew her in other times, by other names." He paused slightly, reflecting.
"In any case, many years after school, I ran into her again in a bar in which I can't recall the name, in a city who's name that I should know, but don't remember." He peered at the nearly full glass of wine. Safyre grinned wryly at him. His master was silent, but his eyes smiled.
"No, she was not there dancing. She was sitting alone at a table sipping sparkling water when I arrived looking to kill time and have a drink, though not much could compare with this wine we are sampling now. If I were to say she looked beautiful, gorgeous, I would sound petty and superficial. If I were to say she looked troubled with dark clouds, I would sound dramatic and suspect. If I were to say that she seemed sad beyond the thought of tears, I would sound extreme. But those were some of my thoughts when I observed her from the bar before I made up my mind to go speak with her, for she had not raised her head to any activity in the room."
"She was delighted to see me, and I was enraptured, talking to her, but it was as if I was truly seeing her for the first time without a haze of enchantment over my eyes. While we sat there, we shared a bottle of wine and talked for many hours, it seems. And her tale is what I tell you, now." Safyre arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. His master stared upwards, at the stars.
"In the bar, as she told this tale, the other patrons faded away. It was like a window had opened, and I was watching the actions the corresponded to her words... the tale was that vivid to me."
"Belili told me her love of the dance and how when she left school to join a dance company, that no one alive came close to what she could do. But there were those who envied her, and there were those that were jealous of her gifts. And one such student went too far in trying to surpass Belili... To try and spite Belili, to surpass her, she searched for and found the red shoes." He paused, letting them absorb his words while he sipped at his wine.
"This student came to the next try-out for a big production, and she danced. She made the first round, as did Belili, but Belili didn't notice, being focused on the joy of the dance. By the third round, Belili grew aware of this dancing girl, her eyes lifted to the heavens, her feet kissing the ground as she moved, her arms open wide like she was embracing the world. Seventy-five women, and twenty-five men came to show off their talents to be chosen for this production. It took them 6 rounds to choose the small core of dancers. Belili and this girl made each round, but the girl was like a falling star, glowing so bright. Belili was impressed, something she'd not felt in ages or aeons, but there was a hollow in her stomach, like a warning of deep fear and pain for the girl."
"The girl was chosen as the lead. Perhaps Belili's reserve and calmness inflamed the girl, enraged her. Before the opening performance, the girl gloated at her and mocked her, almost cursing and challenging Belili to do violence. Belili, for a brief moment, was truly frightened for the girl, but did not piece together the true cost the girl had expended."
"Opening night came, and the girl taunted and gloated at Belili yet again, but she was in no mind to cross words with her. Even after the successful performance, the girl would not let up her tirade. Belili sought to quietly leave the building, but was followed. She took an alley-exit, but the girl followed her. In the alley, she watched the girl circle her, cursing, crying, pleading and sobbing at Belili to end her misery as Belili stood there, shocked, for she finally understood. The student finally pointed down to her feet, with their dusty silk shoes of a deep red color, and Belili noticed that the girl could not stop moving. Her feet seemed to move of her own accord."
"The girl said, 'It's not the way I thought it would be - it was all illusion. This is really happening to me, and I am doomed.' Belili knew it was too late to respond. Nothing she said would have made a difference. The girl started moving, started dancing, and she danced, there, in the alleyway, until she melted into the night air, like a star that burns up and fades into the summer sky."
They stared at each other from the rims of their wine glasses. Even the crickets seemed to quiet in that moment with the fading timbre of Dragonsong's voice.
"Belili picked up the red shoes from that dark alley. They were all that remained of that ambitious dancing girl. The red shoes, all dusty, as if worn through innumerable dances, the red silk ties all frayed with age and use. In the bar she said, quiet clearly, that she remembered making those shoes centuries ago, when the world was much smaller, when dancing a dream was more common, less fantastic, such as sighting a unicorn or catching a falling star. I asked her, 'Centuries ago?' and she nodded affirmatively, like I had just asked if I took sugar with my coffee."
Dragonsong nodded at them slowly.
"How could a mortal compete with a living dream? The dancing girl danced, because of the shoes. But she lost herself because of those shoes that gave her incredible gifts." They stared at him. He sipped at the last few swallows of wine, slowly.
"When I left the bar that night, Belili smiled at me, kindly, as if I had given her some moments of entertainment, or maybe cleansed her conscience a small bit, but I think that I will never decipher that look. Maybe I am projecting my own thoughts to her. Maybe. I do not know. She offered those red shoes to me there, at the bar, asking if I cared to dance a dream with my body on. Did I want to know the line that's my path, the cross that's my heart, the curve that's my smile? Did I want those things? I admit that in the moment of her asking, those were the only things I wanted, and I would have reached out my hand for those cursed shoes, for damnation and salvation, except for her mocking smile."
He finished his wine and glanced at the bottles, but they were empty on their impromptu table. Safyre was lost in the reflections of stars on her glass, while his master's face was impassive and inscrutable.
"So I have touched on mystery, have sat at it's table and come away, but not unscathed. I think that the dull ache of loss in my heart, of not knowing what I didn't gain... is something I will wrestle with for some time."
"Oh, and Belili? That night, after leaving the bar she walked through the doorway, straight into the night. When I see someone dancing, I think of her. Of red shoes. And the strongest enchantment known to mankind: desire."
-Don
October 9, 2001
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Carousel
Carousel
It looms before you,
a dizzying color of movement and sound.
You get on and wonder
where to sit or to stand. Some places
are already taken, and you think
“Next ride, next time,” because maybe
you don’t like where you are. How
do you hold on? Tight,
so your knuckles pale?
When the music starts,
do you turn or wonder if the world
turns around you?
We ride alone, or the ride
is too crowded. Music
blaring into discomfort.
We spin, the world spins a flash
of red and gold. You move
but do not move with music waltzing.
Hair blowing, a horse
is running, a tiger leaps.
Children laugh and you hear talking,
always talking.
There are crowds,
there is red and gold again.
Families, children and single people
who are part of families
you don’t see in their spinning.
The wail of a child, the churn
of machinery and the vibration
felt in your feet.
Scream like a whisper,
and the smell of cotton candy,
the elusive taste of soda
on your tongue. Long hair
blows in a girl’s eyes
and she flips it back, carelessly.
A clean-faced man nudges
his son to hold on
to the tiger “a little tighter.”
Turn around,
moving clock hands,
up and breath down,
living pistons.
Someone you know stands
in the distance,
far away and then so close.
Up and down, red and gold,
around and round.
Before you know it you slow
down, and before you’re ready
you stop.
Flash of horse, red
and gold. A different
vibration beneath your feet.
You let go.
You get off, but
your fingers remember
the cold hot metal grip,
your feet remember
the rumble, your heart
sometimes
remembers the ride.
-Don
(circa ’99 and ’02 (revised))
It looms before you,
a dizzying color of movement and sound.
You get on and wonder
where to sit or to stand. Some places
are already taken, and you think
“Next ride, next time,” because maybe
you don’t like where you are. How
do you hold on? Tight,
so your knuckles pale?
When the music starts,
do you turn or wonder if the world
turns around you?
We ride alone, or the ride
is too crowded. Music
blaring into discomfort.
We spin, the world spins a flash
of red and gold. You move
but do not move with music waltzing.
Hair blowing, a horse
is running, a tiger leaps.
Children laugh and you hear talking,
always talking.
There are crowds,
there is red and gold again.
Families, children and single people
who are part of families
you don’t see in their spinning.
The wail of a child, the churn
of machinery and the vibration
felt in your feet.
Scream like a whisper,
and the smell of cotton candy,
the elusive taste of soda
on your tongue. Long hair
blows in a girl’s eyes
and she flips it back, carelessly.
A clean-faced man nudges
his son to hold on
to the tiger “a little tighter.”
Turn around,
moving clock hands,
up and breath down,
living pistons.
Someone you know stands
in the distance,
far away and then so close.
Up and down, red and gold,
around and round.
Before you know it you slow
down, and before you’re ready
you stop.
Flash of horse, red
and gold. A different
vibration beneath your feet.
You let go.
You get off, but
your fingers remember
the cold hot metal grip,
your feet remember
the rumble, your heart
sometimes
remembers the ride.
-Don
(circa ’99 and ’02 (revised))
Monday, May 21, 2012
Safyre: Actualities
(Part I - Safyre: Premonitions - is here.)
Safyre: Actualities
Safyre: Actualities
Purple
swirls of light surrounded her, and she was twisting through the netherworld of
portal space yet again. Teth to the Dungeon of Corpses, back to Teth, jump a
portal to Subway, then jump to GW for spell comps, and a portal recall back to
Dungeon of Corpses. The portal space spun before and behind her like a streak
across the heavens, like a bird of prey cutting a ribbon across the blue skies
of Dereth. The strange, yet desolate beauty of the Direlands filled her senses
as she stood before the entrance to the Drudge and Virindi haven.
In her mind, she recalled Strick re Bo calmly discussing the dangers of the Yaraq deserts near the Hall of Metos, of strange dolls and kindred of the Virindi. She remembered him telling her of a place she should test her strength, a place where she could match magic to magic, and she had followed him through a conjured portal into the Direlands.
She stepped down into the structure that housed the portal to the Dungeon, reflecting on her first time there with Strick. The air filled with soft words and magic as they cast protective wards - her spells did not seem as bright as Strick's. Though she knew he was many years ahead of her in knowledge, she still yearned for more powerful words. When they came upon the Drudges, he battered them into oblivion, easily, with his staff. She smiled, remembering his low-keyed encouragement to use her dagger skills more often... that a mage should not rely on magic words alone. With her current skills, she had doubted if she could hit a bound rabbit, let alone a Drudge Ravener coming at her.
They walked deeper into the Dungeon, fighting Drudge upon Drudge. The monsters seemed to spawn incredibly fast to her. Deeper, there were two areas with Virindi Servents, and she watched with a small shudder as Strick killed them in a matter of moments, whereas the spells she cast on them were shrugged off like an old cloak. He had pointed out a sturdy iron chest that sometimes contained interesting treasure, and was surprised into speechlessness when he dropped three sturdy iron keys into her hand.
She shook free of her thoughts and stepped into the portal, flying through space to land at the entrance. There were several heroes there, already, fighting, and she made her way to a quiet place and warded herself with her most powerful spells. After skimming stamina from fighting Drudges, she quickly replenished her reservoir of mana. All was ready now for her "test". With a small smile and a quick prayer to the gods, she shifted the yellow magic orb to her backpack, and grasped the Gold staff that surrounded her with Life's magic.
She whispered softly as she stepped down into the Dungeon, "Virindi, I am coming. Beware."
In her mind, she recalled Strick re Bo calmly discussing the dangers of the Yaraq deserts near the Hall of Metos, of strange dolls and kindred of the Virindi. She remembered him telling her of a place she should test her strength, a place where she could match magic to magic, and she had followed him through a conjured portal into the Direlands.
She stepped down into the structure that housed the portal to the Dungeon, reflecting on her first time there with Strick. The air filled with soft words and magic as they cast protective wards - her spells did not seem as bright as Strick's. Though she knew he was many years ahead of her in knowledge, she still yearned for more powerful words. When they came upon the Drudges, he battered them into oblivion, easily, with his staff. She smiled, remembering his low-keyed encouragement to use her dagger skills more often... that a mage should not rely on magic words alone. With her current skills, she had doubted if she could hit a bound rabbit, let alone a Drudge Ravener coming at her.
They walked deeper into the Dungeon, fighting Drudge upon Drudge. The monsters seemed to spawn incredibly fast to her. Deeper, there were two areas with Virindi Servents, and she watched with a small shudder as Strick killed them in a matter of moments, whereas the spells she cast on them were shrugged off like an old cloak. He had pointed out a sturdy iron chest that sometimes contained interesting treasure, and was surprised into speechlessness when he dropped three sturdy iron keys into her hand.
She shook free of her thoughts and stepped into the portal, flying through space to land at the entrance. There were several heroes there, already, fighting, and she made her way to a quiet place and warded herself with her most powerful spells. After skimming stamina from fighting Drudges, she quickly replenished her reservoir of mana. All was ready now for her "test". With a small smile and a quick prayer to the gods, she shifted the yellow magic orb to her backpack, and grasped the Gold staff that surrounded her with Life's magic.
She whispered softly as she stepped down into the Dungeon, "Virindi, I am coming. Beware."
The
sounds of Drudges screaming and heroes fighting faded the further she went down
through the tunnels and corridors. Safyre extended her senses, listening for
the strange hum of the Virindi. A sound caught her ears, filled her body with a
subtle vibration, like the winds flowing through the sandstone caves of Al-Arqas
and Uziz. Near, but not too close.
"Come dance," she whispered.
Around the corner, she came across the Virindi, its back to her. She gestured and quickly spoke magic words, but felt the magic slide away from its target, like oil meeting water. The creature was casting a spell as it turned, and she felt some of her life force deplete, draining from her as if from a leaky pipe. She cast again, hoping it would land, but it too fell away from the approaching horror. Twenty feet away, and she cast again, willing the spell to conquer the creature's defenses, but it too was resisted. The Virindi was upon her, and she smiled grimly to herself to keep from running as it lashed at her with flashing blades. Her voice was drowned out by snarling, alien sounds. The magic spell was not working!
"Yield, cretin," she breathed, but it shrugged off her spells.
The Virindi paused for a moment, drawing power from inside its cloak, throwing a deadly spell, but somehow her own wards were enough.
"Yield!" she cried, casting the spell one more time at it, knowing if the spell did not take, that she would run as far as she could.
Smoke filled the air around her, shrouding her in a wreath of failed magic. The alien snarls were like a mocking laugh. Safyre ran. Whirling blades struck her back, but she kept running, even as she felt blood coursing freely. The creature was right behind her, alien snarls of rage echoing down the corridor.
Whirling blades passed over her shoulder, but still she ran. At an intersection, she dove right, then kept running, the sounds of the alien hum still behind her. She cursed the dirt, the walls, the Virindi behind her, but mostly herself, for running.
A ledge was at the end of the corridor, and she paused to gather strength for a small jump. It felt like more of her life force was drained in that small moment, but her feet were sure when she landed on the bridge that spanned the room beyond the ledge. The Virindi came to the edge and moved forward, but did not make the jump somehow, and landed down below in a room of several Drudge.
She quickly skimmed the Drudge, draining stamina and gathering mana, rebuilding her spent supply. Her wounds healed, magically, the blood on her coat drying into stains. The creatures below were sending acid and whirling blades towards her, but the bridge on which she walked protected her, the spells striking below her feet and not touching her. In her pack, she exchanged the Life staff for an orb and cast a new spell, enhancing her control of Creature magic. She cast another spell, adding to the first, allowing her to reach again for the Gold staff.
She replaced the orb with the staff, filled again with the power of Life magic. She centered on the Virindi and whispered, "Yield, damn you," and let fly the magic.
It held. The magic held, and she knew the Virindi would not be long in this world. She quickly gathered images of fire, of spider webs, of onyx powder, of dead winter leaves, hurling the spell at the Virindi, and was shocked when that spell also took hold. Flames, burning, heat, those images filled her mind and she looked over the bridge span below, aiming the bolt of fire directly at the Virindi. A Drudge Ravener spied her at the same moment and sent a bolt of acid towards her, but she could not move as she completed her spell. Her bolt rocked the Virindi, but the Drudge's bolt shook her as well, snapping her mouth shut loudly, cutting off several choice curses.
She skimmed the Drudge, filled herself again with the sense of mana, of health. The Virindi cast spells, but they did not touch her. She leaned over the side again, aiming for the cloaked shape and mask. Flames shot from her hands, straight to the Virindi, and it shrieked and seemed to flare a moment, before the cloak and mask fell to the Dungeon's floor. Even the Drudge screams were silent a moment, but only until they felt the heat of her bolts of flame. She jumped to the room below and quickly gathered the items left by the creatures' corpses.
Gathering mana around her, shaping the gateway into a magenta glow, she slipped into the portal space, flying towards Teth. She remembered Strick and his sage advice, his attraction to melee and the Gharu'ndim staves. Would she ever wield a dagger with measurable skill? Would she need to? Did she want to?...
As the world refocused into the Direlands near Teth, she briefly checked the items she would turn in for cash. No, she probably would not wield a dagger any time soon. Her magic was enough. It had been enough when she came to the world. It would be enough, now. She had matched magic with magic, had trusted in the ripples of magic that surrounded her. She had faced a nightmare, and prevailed.
She whispered to no one in particular, in the sandy streets of Teth, not seeing the inhabitants, nor the desert refuge, "I'm home."
"Come dance," she whispered.
Around the corner, she came across the Virindi, its back to her. She gestured and quickly spoke magic words, but felt the magic slide away from its target, like oil meeting water. The creature was casting a spell as it turned, and she felt some of her life force deplete, draining from her as if from a leaky pipe. She cast again, hoping it would land, but it too fell away from the approaching horror. Twenty feet away, and she cast again, willing the spell to conquer the creature's defenses, but it too was resisted. The Virindi was upon her, and she smiled grimly to herself to keep from running as it lashed at her with flashing blades. Her voice was drowned out by snarling, alien sounds. The magic spell was not working!
"Yield, cretin," she breathed, but it shrugged off her spells.
The Virindi paused for a moment, drawing power from inside its cloak, throwing a deadly spell, but somehow her own wards were enough.
"Yield!" she cried, casting the spell one more time at it, knowing if the spell did not take, that she would run as far as she could.
Smoke filled the air around her, shrouding her in a wreath of failed magic. The alien snarls were like a mocking laugh. Safyre ran. Whirling blades struck her back, but she kept running, even as she felt blood coursing freely. The creature was right behind her, alien snarls of rage echoing down the corridor.
Whirling blades passed over her shoulder, but still she ran. At an intersection, she dove right, then kept running, the sounds of the alien hum still behind her. She cursed the dirt, the walls, the Virindi behind her, but mostly herself, for running.
A ledge was at the end of the corridor, and she paused to gather strength for a small jump. It felt like more of her life force was drained in that small moment, but her feet were sure when she landed on the bridge that spanned the room beyond the ledge. The Virindi came to the edge and moved forward, but did not make the jump somehow, and landed down below in a room of several Drudge.
She quickly skimmed the Drudge, draining stamina and gathering mana, rebuilding her spent supply. Her wounds healed, magically, the blood on her coat drying into stains. The creatures below were sending acid and whirling blades towards her, but the bridge on which she walked protected her, the spells striking below her feet and not touching her. In her pack, she exchanged the Life staff for an orb and cast a new spell, enhancing her control of Creature magic. She cast another spell, adding to the first, allowing her to reach again for the Gold staff.
She replaced the orb with the staff, filled again with the power of Life magic. She centered on the Virindi and whispered, "Yield, damn you," and let fly the magic.
It held. The magic held, and she knew the Virindi would not be long in this world. She quickly gathered images of fire, of spider webs, of onyx powder, of dead winter leaves, hurling the spell at the Virindi, and was shocked when that spell also took hold. Flames, burning, heat, those images filled her mind and she looked over the bridge span below, aiming the bolt of fire directly at the Virindi. A Drudge Ravener spied her at the same moment and sent a bolt of acid towards her, but she could not move as she completed her spell. Her bolt rocked the Virindi, but the Drudge's bolt shook her as well, snapping her mouth shut loudly, cutting off several choice curses.
She skimmed the Drudge, filled herself again with the sense of mana, of health. The Virindi cast spells, but they did not touch her. She leaned over the side again, aiming for the cloaked shape and mask. Flames shot from her hands, straight to the Virindi, and it shrieked and seemed to flare a moment, before the cloak and mask fell to the Dungeon's floor. Even the Drudge screams were silent a moment, but only until they felt the heat of her bolts of flame. She jumped to the room below and quickly gathered the items left by the creatures' corpses.
Gathering mana around her, shaping the gateway into a magenta glow, she slipped into the portal space, flying towards Teth. She remembered Strick and his sage advice, his attraction to melee and the Gharu'ndim staves. Would she ever wield a dagger with measurable skill? Would she need to? Did she want to?...
As the world refocused into the Direlands near Teth, she briefly checked the items she would turn in for cash. No, she probably would not wield a dagger any time soon. Her magic was enough. It had been enough when she came to the world. It would be enough, now. She had matched magic with magic, had trusted in the ripples of magic that surrounded her. She had faced a nightmare, and prevailed.
She whispered to no one in particular, in the sandy streets of Teth, not seeing the inhabitants, nor the desert refuge, "I'm home."
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Donna Summer
Your various names: LaDonna Adrian Gaines, Donna Gaines, and Donna Summer. One name you'll claim forever is The Queen of Disco.
"I Feel Love" was the song of the 70's that defined the gay community's growing self-awareness and self-empowerment. I have listened to that song hundreds of times and I never get tired of it. Donna, you may have been a reluctant gay icon, but our community listened, celebrated, and danced like you were singing directly to and for us. Thank you the music, Donna.
Rest in peace.
Dear readers... what is your favorite Donna Summer song(s)?
"I Feel Love" was the song of the 70's that defined the gay community's growing self-awareness and self-empowerment. I have listened to that song hundreds of times and I never get tired of it. Donna, you may have been a reluctant gay icon, but our community listened, celebrated, and danced like you were singing directly to and for us. Thank you the music, Donna.
Rest in peace.
Dear readers... what is your favorite Donna Summer song(s)?
Thursday, May 17, 2012
TT: Jealousy
I was going through old posts, old stories, old fragments of outlines and ideas that I never fleshed out or made into any semblance of a tapestry. I let the pieces sit in descriptive piles of empty narrative, collecting the equivalent of electronic dust of ones and zeros ad infinum. Somewhere through the years, through the many backups and copies and consolidation of directories or attempted organization I had merged articles and stories and fiction with work of my own. Going through the mess, I couldn't immediately recognize what was mine and what wasn't. It took a fair amount of reading for content to stimulate memories or find some anchor or recognition of ownership.
I was reading and I found myself jealous of a certain style of narrative, or jealous of the way the writer had played with the dialogue, or jealous of the poetic way in which a story unfolded. I was jealous of the work and I there were elements that I admired very much, feeling almost like Jan Brady-ish for comparing my work to those stories or feeling that I was coming up short in the skill department. What surprised me as well as shocked me was finding out that the unknown author I was jealous of was myself. Enough time has passed that I didn't remember writing certain pieces. At this point I don't know whether to be highly amused at exhibiting jealousy for my own schtuff or highly upset that my memory has more holes than a miniature golf course.
I was reading and I found myself jealous of a certain style of narrative, or jealous of the way the writer had played with the dialogue, or jealous of the poetic way in which a story unfolded. I was jealous of the work and I there were elements that I admired very much, feeling almost like Jan Brady-ish for comparing my work to those stories or feeling that I was coming up short in the skill department. What surprised me as well as shocked me was finding out that the unknown author I was jealous of was myself. Enough time has passed that I didn't remember writing certain pieces. At this point I don't know whether to be highly amused at exhibiting jealousy for my own schtuff or highly upset that my memory has more holes than a miniature golf course.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Safyre: Premonitions
**Geek alert. I wrote this two-part story in April 2001 that was based on the MMORPG (massively multiplayer online role-playing game) of Asheron's Call. Here is part one.**
Safyre: Premonitions
Safyre: Premonitions
That
day was diamond edged, like an impossible dream. Safyre walked the desert sands
near Yaraq, remembering her accomplishment of a few weeks ago in the Yanshi
Meeting Hall: nervously clutching a gold scarab while she stood in the mana
pool, murmuring words of power, letting magic fly about her. She stood, gaping,
because there was no fizzle, no implosion of noise of a spell that was miscast.
She had succeeded, and wanted to learn the rest immediately, but knew with all
four schools to study, she would be many hours memorizing and scribing new
spells into her books.
She wandered south of town, ignoring the very young shreth that tended to gather near the trees and water line, and dispatching those that came too close. Red and blue wasps buzzed in the background. Drudge stood in clusters of two and three in the distances, but they either did not see her, or they ignored her completely. The latter seemed less likely, given the vivid yellow dress she favored.
The abandoned villa was quiet, a safe place to reflect and ponder the mysterious ways of the world. She liked climbing the stairs from inside, to the roof, and looking out to the water, or climbing onto the railing around the roof and reclining, watching the sun, stars and moons wheel across the sky. It was comforting, knowing the arc and curve of life's spinning, and here, she felt that she could almost see part of it.
In travelling the land and entering the towns, it was difficult to not know of constant changes. New sightings of strange creatures, new exclamations of treasure, whispered messages of cryptic lore in places she had not been to yet. Yet. The great evil behind the Shadow Spires was banished (she did not like even thinking of his name). The Lugians were more visible than before. The Virindi were, as usual, inscrutable, yet obviously purposeful. And what did she know? Not enough, she decided.
The closest she had come to a Virindi, as of yet, had been in following Huntyr to a far off portal in the Direlands, twisting through hallways and passages, and coming to a room where they occasionally appeared. She could see that it hovered, but saw no clear detail. Magic surrounded it, and flying blades aimed at the heroes around it filled the air, but it quickly fell to the blows of the heroes surrounding it. A huge Tusker had been there as well, and she remembered nervously standing near a wall, paling at the bestial rage of the creature. As it raced towards her, she cried out words that surrounded her with magical protection, but before it could touch her it slumped at her feet from the arrows of a mighty archer. She watched him salute at her, then fade into a passageway.
She shook herself from the reverie. Yaraq was to the north, a quiet desert town near the water's edge. The wind was warm, carrying the faint scent of sand and sage. There was the nagging thought that she should not be here. The doors to the abandoned villa were open - she did not recall finding them open before. She directed her thoughts ahead, but could detect no sound. Crossing into the entrance, she jumped as the doors closed behind her, feeling like a skittish little rabbit. The drum of her heart was deafening.
She passed into the main room with the empty fountain where there was a chill in the air, though even the darkened room should be sweltering. She frowned slightly, wondering how this place suddenly felt so unfamiliar, so unwelcome. The golden orb in her hand that enhanced her Portal magic drew her attention for a moment - should she return to the mines and jump to a portal and return to Yanshi? Her feet moved towards the stairs that led outside and up to the roof.
As she stepped higher along the stairs, she could see a figure staring out towards Yaraq. A cloaked figure. The figure seemed tall. As she climbed higher, she saw that the figure's feet did not touch the ground.
Even as she stopped moving, it turned and moved towards her. She blinked and started to speak a spell of relocation, but the magic faded as a diamond-bright blade was placed against her throat. A masked face stared at her, and the day lost all sense of warmth.
Curiously, she felt the wild currents of magic, as if she were swimming in a mana pool, but it felt like a glass wall separated her from touching the ebb and flow. The orb in her hands glowed of its own accord. Slowly, she lowered her hands to her sides, letting thoughts form and fade, watching the figure watch her. She was afraid to swallow, lest the blade indeed begin to pierce her. Part of her wanted words for those eyes, for colors that she had not experienced before. Part of her wanted to forget the coldness that stared at her, more piercing than the seven wild winds of the north. The moments stretched and stretched, until she thought her mind would snap, separating her head from her neck. It was fascinating, feeling her heartbeat in her eardrums, being aware of a drop of sweat on her brow as it moved down the side of her face, her cheek, and still the two of them continued to stare. She discerned no visible change to the Virindi, and yet it was suddenly a pace or so away, the blade at its side. The blade disappeared into a fold of its cloak.
Did it nod? Did it gesture in way she recognized? It turned partly from her, rose above the railing then dropped slowly to the patio on the other side of the villa. She ran to the railing, looking down, but the being had already moved down to ground level and was moving quickly away from the villa, towards the desert. Leaning against the warm stone, she realized the heat for the first time, realized how tired she felt. That she was even alive and breathing... she would ponder this for a while, but not quite yet. She may feel pride at gold scarabs and learning, but there were those with which she could not compete. Yet. Not yet. Always... 'not yet.'
"Her" villa was no longer safe, not quite as solitary. Pulling out a gemstone Mishima Yoshi had given her, she invoked the infused magic, watching as a portal formed before her. She stepped inside, stepping through it and into Yanshi, wanting to leave the sudden chill of the Yaraq desert heat.
She wandered south of town, ignoring the very young shreth that tended to gather near the trees and water line, and dispatching those that came too close. Red and blue wasps buzzed in the background. Drudge stood in clusters of two and three in the distances, but they either did not see her, or they ignored her completely. The latter seemed less likely, given the vivid yellow dress she favored.
The abandoned villa was quiet, a safe place to reflect and ponder the mysterious ways of the world. She liked climbing the stairs from inside, to the roof, and looking out to the water, or climbing onto the railing around the roof and reclining, watching the sun, stars and moons wheel across the sky. It was comforting, knowing the arc and curve of life's spinning, and here, she felt that she could almost see part of it.
In travelling the land and entering the towns, it was difficult to not know of constant changes. New sightings of strange creatures, new exclamations of treasure, whispered messages of cryptic lore in places she had not been to yet. Yet. The great evil behind the Shadow Spires was banished (she did not like even thinking of his name). The Lugians were more visible than before. The Virindi were, as usual, inscrutable, yet obviously purposeful. And what did she know? Not enough, she decided.
The closest she had come to a Virindi, as of yet, had been in following Huntyr to a far off portal in the Direlands, twisting through hallways and passages, and coming to a room where they occasionally appeared. She could see that it hovered, but saw no clear detail. Magic surrounded it, and flying blades aimed at the heroes around it filled the air, but it quickly fell to the blows of the heroes surrounding it. A huge Tusker had been there as well, and she remembered nervously standing near a wall, paling at the bestial rage of the creature. As it raced towards her, she cried out words that surrounded her with magical protection, but before it could touch her it slumped at her feet from the arrows of a mighty archer. She watched him salute at her, then fade into a passageway.
She shook herself from the reverie. Yaraq was to the north, a quiet desert town near the water's edge. The wind was warm, carrying the faint scent of sand and sage. There was the nagging thought that she should not be here. The doors to the abandoned villa were open - she did not recall finding them open before. She directed her thoughts ahead, but could detect no sound. Crossing into the entrance, she jumped as the doors closed behind her, feeling like a skittish little rabbit. The drum of her heart was deafening.
She passed into the main room with the empty fountain where there was a chill in the air, though even the darkened room should be sweltering. She frowned slightly, wondering how this place suddenly felt so unfamiliar, so unwelcome. The golden orb in her hand that enhanced her Portal magic drew her attention for a moment - should she return to the mines and jump to a portal and return to Yanshi? Her feet moved towards the stairs that led outside and up to the roof.
As she stepped higher along the stairs, she could see a figure staring out towards Yaraq. A cloaked figure. The figure seemed tall. As she climbed higher, she saw that the figure's feet did not touch the ground.
Even as she stopped moving, it turned and moved towards her. She blinked and started to speak a spell of relocation, but the magic faded as a diamond-bright blade was placed against her throat. A masked face stared at her, and the day lost all sense of warmth.
Curiously, she felt the wild currents of magic, as if she were swimming in a mana pool, but it felt like a glass wall separated her from touching the ebb and flow. The orb in her hands glowed of its own accord. Slowly, she lowered her hands to her sides, letting thoughts form and fade, watching the figure watch her. She was afraid to swallow, lest the blade indeed begin to pierce her. Part of her wanted words for those eyes, for colors that she had not experienced before. Part of her wanted to forget the coldness that stared at her, more piercing than the seven wild winds of the north. The moments stretched and stretched, until she thought her mind would snap, separating her head from her neck. It was fascinating, feeling her heartbeat in her eardrums, being aware of a drop of sweat on her brow as it moved down the side of her face, her cheek, and still the two of them continued to stare. She discerned no visible change to the Virindi, and yet it was suddenly a pace or so away, the blade at its side. The blade disappeared into a fold of its cloak.
Did it nod? Did it gesture in way she recognized? It turned partly from her, rose above the railing then dropped slowly to the patio on the other side of the villa. She ran to the railing, looking down, but the being had already moved down to ground level and was moving quickly away from the villa, towards the desert. Leaning against the warm stone, she realized the heat for the first time, realized how tired she felt. That she was even alive and breathing... she would ponder this for a while, but not quite yet. She may feel pride at gold scarabs and learning, but there were those with which she could not compete. Yet. Not yet. Always... 'not yet.'
"Her" villa was no longer safe, not quite as solitary. Pulling out a gemstone Mishima Yoshi had given her, she invoked the infused magic, watching as a portal formed before her. She stepped inside, stepping through it and into Yanshi, wanting to leave the sudden chill of the Yaraq desert heat.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Our stained glass store is closing
We found out this past Thursday that our stained glass store, the I Love Stained Glass Shoppe, is closing at the end of this month. The owner, Sherry, is retiring. We've known for a while she was retiring, and we've known that she was interested in selling her business, but she's closing the doors at the end of the month.
Last Fall, I worked on an oval stained glass piece, the Green Man, which I worked on at home.
I was excited to work on another project. We started looking for nearby stained glass supply shops and discovered this new place, which was a happy medium for me being between my home and work.
We stopped by in January and admired the pieces hanging in the front window. The people inside greeted us when we came in and we meandered through the shop, talking with people and looking at the stained glass supplies. Sherry, whom we discovered was the proprietor, encouraged us to look around, check out the course offerings, and make ourselves at home. We signed up for a three day bevel class (a Saturday, the following Saturday, then Sunday), and we've been hooked on this store ever since.
My first piece bevel piece, which I completed in two days, looked like this, until Fed Ex broke it. That's another story for another time, but suffice to say that Fed Ex can rot in Hell.
The next piece took me eight weeks. The first four weeks were spent in design and redesign, redoing the outer bevel border four times: from a single 1" bevel border to a single 1.5" bevel border to a double bevel border to a double bevel border with corner clusters.
Last Fall, I worked on an oval stained glass piece, the Green Man, which I worked on at home.
I was excited to work on another project. We started looking for nearby stained glass supply shops and discovered this new place, which was a happy medium for me being between my home and work.
We stopped by in January and admired the pieces hanging in the front window. The people inside greeted us when we came in and we meandered through the shop, talking with people and looking at the stained glass supplies. Sherry, whom we discovered was the proprietor, encouraged us to look around, check out the course offerings, and make ourselves at home. We signed up for a three day bevel class (a Saturday, the following Saturday, then Sunday), and we've been hooked on this store ever since.
My first piece bevel piece, which I completed in two days, looked like this, until Fed Ex broke it. That's another story for another time, but suffice to say that Fed Ex can rot in Hell.
The next piece took me eight weeks. The first four weeks were spent in design and redesign, redoing the outer bevel border four times: from a single 1" bevel border to a single 1.5" bevel border to a double bevel border to a double bevel border with corner clusters.
The last piece I worked on was a belated birthday present for a good friend. I bit off more than I could chew, because my original design was going to be a simple 12" x 18". The piece measures roughly 18" by 26", unframed. I named this one "Balance" in the spirit of affirmation.
Tonight, we stopped by the store to talk with the owner and congratulate her on her upcoming retirement. It is a bittersweet time for her, being sad to leave the store, but happy for future adventures. She gave us a discount of 50% off glass and we went a little wild shopping, but we chose some great glass for future projects. I want to start working on lampshades...
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Talk Thursday: Delayed
I'll give this proper attention when I have time over the next few days.
Lo siento.
Lo siento.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Eye Contact
I finished working out and put my clothes in the locker and grabbed a towel. Downstairs in the men’s room, a guy was sitting by himself in the jacuzzi. He made eye contact and I looked away as I went around the corner and into the showers. As I soaped up, I remembered that I’d seen him several times before while I was working out, but not in the shower area. I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around me and stepped into the empty steam room. I sat down on the upper ledge and slowly leaned into the tiled wall behind me, the heat almost scalding. I breathed in deeply, letting the hot air fill my lungs and open my sinuses. My eyes were watering and I closed them. I suppressed a wave of coughs by breathing slowly. Steam issued from the pipes near the door, sound billowing through the moist air.
The door opened then closed. I continued breathing. I heard someone coughing slightly, the sound dulled from the sound of steam and I opened my eyes. The guy from the hot tub was sitting across from me, a towel over his lap. He was looking at me and I met his eyes for a moment, measuring his glance that was both aggressive and questioning. I blinked and closed my eyes, leaning my head against the tile. The steam turned off and I could hear random drops of water falling from the ceiling, hear my slow breathing, and I could hear the faint sound of his breath. The heat was too much and I stepped down and left the room to stand under a cold shower, the question of his eyes rinsing clear from my mind.
The door opened behind me and he stepped into the shower room, the towel hanging in his hand. I could feel his gaze, but I let the water flow over my head and face. I let the water rinse over me. He stood under a shower head on the wall opposite me, half turned towards me. I allowed myself one look of his back and athletic butt while he was turned to face the wall. I turned to the wall and soaped up and rinsed, feeling his gaze. I turned off the water and wrapped the towel around me. He was facing me and I met his eyes. The look was challenging, daring me to look at him, look up and down his body. I nodded briefly as we locked eyes, neither giving nor taking, and I left to get dressed.
The door opened then closed. I continued breathing. I heard someone coughing slightly, the sound dulled from the sound of steam and I opened my eyes. The guy from the hot tub was sitting across from me, a towel over his lap. He was looking at me and I met his eyes for a moment, measuring his glance that was both aggressive and questioning. I blinked and closed my eyes, leaning my head against the tile. The steam turned off and I could hear random drops of water falling from the ceiling, hear my slow breathing, and I could hear the faint sound of his breath. The heat was too much and I stepped down and left the room to stand under a cold shower, the question of his eyes rinsing clear from my mind.
The door opened behind me and he stepped into the shower room, the towel hanging in his hand. I could feel his gaze, but I let the water flow over my head and face. I let the water rinse over me. He stood under a shower head on the wall opposite me, half turned towards me. I allowed myself one look of his back and athletic butt while he was turned to face the wall. I turned to the wall and soaped up and rinsed, feeling his gaze. I turned off the water and wrapped the towel around me. He was facing me and I met his eyes. The look was challenging, daring me to look at him, look up and down his body. I nodded briefly as we locked eyes, neither giving nor taking, and I left to get dressed.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Avengers
My childhood comic book heroes have come to life! We saw this yesterday at the theatre in south Lake Tahoe and those 2.5 hours flew by. I was surprised with Mark Ruffalo, but his Hulk steals every scene. Thor's "he's adopted" comment about Loki made me laugh out loud.
Thank you, Stan Lee, for your original vision. Now, if Marvel Studios can ramp up the mystical storylines and include the Scarlet Witch and Dr. Strange, I'll die completely satisifed.
Thank you, Stan Lee, for your original vision. Now, if Marvel Studios can ramp up the mystical storylines and include the Scarlet Witch and Dr. Strange, I'll die completely satisifed.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
TT: Sobriety
I joke so often about alcohol or alcohol consumption that some could assume I drink a lot and drink often. When I've been asked what my favorite drink was I've been known to respond with "alcohol." It is true that I partied three to four times a week for weeks, months, then years at a time, but I was in my twenties.
In no way am I saying that I haven't had some spectacular benders, such as certain national conferences and having flashbacks to really exuberant dance moves (spinning? really?) on the dance floor. Thank every god that there weren't any pictures. I hope. Another time was challenging a boss to those bouncy blow-up obstacle courses after having three or five martinis. I whooped his ass, but had to make a bee-line for the men's bathroom where I threw up, rinsed my mouth, wiped my face, felt better, and went for another drink or three. There would be world peace if conferences were mandatory and the social/dancing events kept the liquor and music flowing well past midnight. Another time, in the heart of Mormondom, I went streaking through the Murray cemetery. With the same group of friends, we did the same thing at Snowbird, running down the halls to the elevator and down to the lobby then all the way back up to our room.
Unfortunately, some will remember an early bender: the Silver sisters episode at Neener's wedding party, where half the crowd was her friends and family, and half the crowd was the groom's law enforcement friends and family. Neener's sister and I dressed up in matching silver outfits of her in a dress and me in a silver ski parka, silver boots, purple and sun-flowered leggings, and our hair wrapped up in silver lamé caftans. With ghetto-blaster in tow, we lip-synced our way through the house to Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive." By all rights, I could have been shot dead by all the uber-testosterone laden and manly cops present, but everyone had a good time. Or so I've been told. Unfortunately, there were pictures of this event and I will never be able to run for President. Dammit.
If and when I do drink now, it's socially, and it's not to the point that I'm fall-down drunk - or anywhere close to that. I drink for the shared ambiance, for the taste of the drink itself, and for relaxing enough to not take life or myself so seriously. If my "sin" of the Enneagram is gluttony then my spiritual path is sobriety, which, loosely defined is seeing things/myself/life for that which they are instead of experiencing through the glamour of how I'd like things/myself/life to be. I don't need alcohol to enhance or detract from life's lessons. My name is Don, and I'm not an alcoholic.
In no way am I saying that I haven't had some spectacular benders, such as certain national conferences and having flashbacks to really exuberant dance moves (spinning? really?) on the dance floor. Thank every god that there weren't any pictures. I hope. Another time was challenging a boss to those bouncy blow-up obstacle courses after having three or five martinis. I whooped his ass, but had to make a bee-line for the men's bathroom where I threw up, rinsed my mouth, wiped my face, felt better, and went for another drink or three. There would be world peace if conferences were mandatory and the social/dancing events kept the liquor and music flowing well past midnight. Another time, in the heart of Mormondom, I went streaking through the Murray cemetery. With the same group of friends, we did the same thing at Snowbird, running down the halls to the elevator and down to the lobby then all the way back up to our room.
Unfortunately, some will remember an early bender: the Silver sisters episode at Neener's wedding party, where half the crowd was her friends and family, and half the crowd was the groom's law enforcement friends and family. Neener's sister and I dressed up in matching silver outfits of her in a dress and me in a silver ski parka, silver boots, purple and sun-flowered leggings, and our hair wrapped up in silver lamé caftans. With ghetto-blaster in tow, we lip-synced our way through the house to Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive." By all rights, I could have been shot dead by all the uber-testosterone laden and manly cops present, but everyone had a good time. Or so I've been told. Unfortunately, there were pictures of this event and I will never be able to run for President. Dammit.
If and when I do drink now, it's socially, and it's not to the point that I'm fall-down drunk - or anywhere close to that. I drink for the shared ambiance, for the taste of the drink itself, and for relaxing enough to not take life or myself so seriously. If my "sin" of the Enneagram is gluttony then my spiritual path is sobriety, which, loosely defined is seeing things/myself/life for that which they are instead of experiencing through the glamour of how I'd like things/myself/life to be. I don't need alcohol to enhance or detract from life's lessons. My name is Don, and I'm not an alcoholic.
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