Vlaad Aeron [The Beginning]

Vlaad Aeron [The Beginning]

A mildewed grey had settled into the lands. A cloud of impious actions hung in the air like a beast of burden, floating like a songbird who only moans dirges. The whole region had been plagued with shadow since the supposed assassination of Lord Whitaker the Wise and his family, minus his deviant son. In adjacent kingdoms, there was still a slight sense of normalcy. The nearby castle of Greldor had been falling into disrepair over the past few decades, thanks to Vlaad Aeron the Cruel, son of the praised Lord Whitaker the Wise. A more evil man was unimaginable. As a young boy, he killed his entire family, one by one, oddly coinciding with a series of ‘accidents’. After all of them had been pulled out of the picture, he was the only one left with ‘noble’ blood. Being the only one with ‘noble’ blood left, he unquestioningly became the new Lord of Greldor. He had a vast militia at his disposal, and treated them as such. His mercenary army of barbaric knights, appropriately called the Black Horde, was almost as malicious as he. The Horde killed for almost any offense, ranging from heckling to treason. Innocent peasants were massacred daily, with their heads shoved on pikes lining the path to the gatehouse of Greldor. The path was now so hideously and wickedly dark after years of this that a torch was required to even see your own hands in front of you. Few other rulers of neighboring lands wanted anything to do with Vlaad, for he was far too evil and corrupt to be dealt with. Besides, the messengers who got sent there often never returned. Mortality rates were up, birth rates were low. Many of the Horde would rape women they came across, resulting in beastly children that would grow into even more fiendish adults. The term horde had become associated with the idea of murder, monstrosity, and even the Reaper. Peasants had it the worst, especially peasants of surrounding regions. Vlaad and his Horde had recently become expansive and began a campaign of territorial conquest. Invasions had started getting progressively more and more horrific. For an example of Vlaad’s ever-growing cruelty, the people who surrendered were covered in a sticky paste of sultry resin and ferrous oxblood and thrown into a viewable pit full of bloodthirsty exotic creatures. His most recent creatures gained were a family of starving crocodiles. He made the pit viewable, and enforced the watching of mutilations as a sort of fear tactic to teach any other able-bodied prisoner the lesson of humility and terror. These are the ways of Vlaad Aeron the Cruel.

On the other side, there was little oppression, but it existed nonetheless. The Righteous, as they called themselves, were growing ever more tired of Vlaad the tyrant and his fear-driven crusades. They had each begun the process of unification against the Lord and his minions. Gifts of piety were being exchanged to offer a sense of trust and strength between the other kingdoms. An additional motivation was to create an army strong enough to withstand the might of the Black Horde, also with the intent of destroying and disbanding what would remain of it afterward. Prophets and seers foresaw a mysterious hooded figure in black, presumably Vlaad, leading the forces of evil into a battle of epic proportions against the Righteous forces, rallied under a single standard. The only thing that remained to be determined was when the two sides would be enmeshed in the clash of the millennia.

Writing from Character’s 1's perspective

Writing from Character’s 1's perspective

Every day. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of her. Of how things were. If I could take it back, I would. But I can’t. I have to live with the knowledge that I murdered my sanity. I shattered my dream world. And why? Because of my addiction. Many times have I tried to kick the stuff, but never has it worked. I miss her. I drink to forget what I did. Ironic isn’t it. I lost her because of my drinking; I started drinking because of my brother’s death. I am responsible for all that has happened. If only I had not run away, if only I had stayed to help fight, he might still be here, and I would still live in Utopia. But I cannot change the past. I drink to forget. I know I have said all this before. But I will never forget.

Epic Of Icarus [part one: In Dreams]

Epic Of Icarus

Part One: In Dreams
How great it must be to fly
Without worries or cares
Without doubts or fears
Spreading wings to soar in air
There, in the open, unchained breeze
Where the manacles of oppression,
The ball and chain of civil slavery, and depression
Have never even seen the light of day
Have never disgraced the clouds with acid
Fly to the sun, the source of all life
Beyond the blue, beyond the crimson knife
Escape the strife, the prison, the cell,
Escape those who persecute the pursuit of happiness
Beware the holocaust from clocks
And those who wish man to walk
Whose desire is not to fly,
Rather, but is instead to hunt those who try
Beware those who fear change
The stars are within reach, though
So never give up hope
Never let another kill your will
And always still, don’t steal a gain
Or the pain will be excruciating
Learn the limits, don’t fly too low
Or the ocean will dampen your wings
And send you to a watery grave
From whence you shall remain
And drift forever on the River Styx
Where breathing will not happen
For there is no air, and flying is banished
Learn the limits, don’t fly too high
Or the sky will send you to Inferno
Where you shall never perish, but
Will always parch for nourishment
And never receive any, only suffering,
From sulfur and brimstone, fire and hate,
More evil and corruption than mere mortal can take
You can be spared from eternal damnation
If you only learn to fly within reason
If you avoid the chains of time
If you never give up hope
Then the dream can be made real

This Is Just A Drill

This Is Just A Drill

In the event of a REAL war, the draft would be reinstated. But this is just a drill. Just something to have our soldiers practice on. Terrorism? A war on terrorism? Hasn’t even begun yet. When, or if, it does, political correctness cannot, I repeat CANNOT be a player in the battle. The war, if it wants to be a final and decisive one, will have to be waged FULL OUT. Nothing holding the armed forces back. If every country in the world ganged up on terrorism, it would sure as hell end pretty damned quick, that’s for sure. But for now, this is just a drill.

Reflective Writing [Not Shiny]

Reflective Writing [Not Shiny]

The pitch-coal, boot-black darkest color. It has been with me as a friend, a source of steadfastness. Always, when I need it, light-absence arises. The dark unknown is my reassurance. Everything casts a shadow, a black one. Darkness is within all things, it is a source of comfort to me. To others, it is a show of depression, of sad times, of rebelliousness. These are all me. That’s probably why the macabre color of death entices me so vividly. I have been swallowed by a behemoth, internally the flame is diminished. I grew with the sort of symbiotic relationship between mental ability and shade. I don’t hide in recluse, though. I LIVE in the dark, it doesn’t own me. Darkness, black as ink, is a necessary lesson to understand, for survival. To know the evil is to know the good. Coal-black, blacker than the deepest ocean, is half of a healthy mental state. It is the amount of shadow that one lets it control themselves that distinguishes individuality. The very existence of man is of a fallen nature. The balance between internal day and night is a tough mixture to get right. The majority of society would deny the prevalence of shade in their hearts. But that is why they deny. They wish it upon themselves for light to occur, for the have always been told dark is bad, and bad is evil, which is ‘morally incorrect”. Take a look around. Even the physical surroundings pronounce a quality of shadow. Black is a dominant color of modern culture. You can witness this for yourself by strolling anywhere, and observing. You will NEVER NOT see shadow.

The Most Painful Thing To Learn Thus Far

The Most Painful Thing To Learn Thus Far

The most painful thing I have learned in my life is probably the most painful lesson anyone could ever learn. It is the lesson of losing love; the lesson of abandonment. I have been associated so far much so with this concept that it is extremely hard to write about. Ever since I was born, abandonment has been a key motif in the story of my life. The people who are supposed to care about a child the most, my parents, were not around. When they were, they would always fight, always abuse each other. They hate each other. I have memories of when I was 1, far earlier than most people have. I believe this is due to the violent nature in the learning of my lesson of self-reliance. My whole childhood is filled with examples of abandonment and abuse, which Freud would say will lead me to more likely have bad relationships. This has thus far been proven true, for ALMOST every love I have leaves me, or is never actually WITH me, or decides to become promiscuous. I never understand what I do that merits such an outcome, but it happens every time. I quest for a love that is pure, a love that will not leave, a love that is permanent. I placate myself by delving into the realms of music, putting myself in a state of reclusion. My outer defense is to become something of an intellectual bully. I put forward my cleverness and reflexive commentary as a means to protect myself from getting another lesson in abandonment. Because if you haven’t already had a lesson in this particular subject, you will, and you know nothing of stoicism. The initial reaction to it is indifference, followed by a sense or mourning combined with pangs of longing. These become associated with a feeling of foreboding and self-loathing or pity. This has taught me to be more wary of the outside world, to be more distrusting. It seems unfair that I should have to have these feelings, and consider them normal. Resentment boils in my blood and I wish for divergence from this.

The Most [I'm]portant One

The most important relationship I have is with myself. It wouldn’t appear to have always been this way, but in actuality it has. I have grown intellectually from birth, and have an excellent long term memory. I am always seeking to get smarter, to learn more. During this process, I decided that learning something and knowing to myself that I know it was more valuable than learning it and having to demonstrate that I know it. Also, it is much more efficient to learn it without all sorts of tedious piles of homework and unnecessary blabber. There are two components to the union of myself, the social aspect and the cerebral portion. The analytical section is the one that dominates all else. It sets the standard for the social sector in the amalgamation of me. Influentially, the rational segment has caused me to stride away from what most people would call a sense of normalcy. My sense of typicality is derived from logical processes in my mind, resulting in the behaviors and situational confrontations I become entangled in for most of the waking hours. This almost always leads me to trouble with the authority, for I openly feel that things need to change. The system is built wrong; it was built by incompetents and know-littles. I propose a shift in the balance of power, but in suggesting such an idea on an all-encompassing basis, I would be quickly subdued by the media and masses of brainless slugs who watch their brainwashing screen nightly, as if they feed off its lies for sustenance. The shift should be giving power to people whose intellectual aspect dominates over their social, but since this particular kind of person is extremely difficult to find, it would almost instantaneously progress into an oligarchy of the philosophers, something in proportion to Plato’s ideal Republic but not nearly as arrogant and one-minded. This is possible, highly improbable, but I would gladly give up my community positions and diminish the social sector to a minimum to be incorporated into such a system.

Mystery Informant

The water smelled of rotting flesh, so much that I have to turn and gag. Putting my hand over my mouth, I look inside the death chambers again. Clues are hard to find, but it appears one of the former bloody occupants left me a message in code. A ring, placed near the drain, a small scratch pointing upward. These things confuse me at first. From the depths of my trench coat I pull out a small camera, so I can review what I have just bore witness to later. Looking higher, I see what appears to be part of the finger that ring once went on. That would explain the putrid scent and color of the water. I put the camera back in the inner pocket, and pull out my notebook as I walk to my car. Writing the address down, I put the notebook away and drive off, waiting until I figure out sense of the clues left behind.

Name Piece III [that’s what I’m calling it, go ahead and shoot me for it]

Frankly, I’m getting sick of writing about my name. if you say or write something too much, it loses meaning. And I like my name, so I have to respectfully decline this offer to abuse my moniker. So what if some Mexican girl has issues with her name? It isn’t my problem. My problem is having to demoralize and demean my name purely for the enjoyment of another. There is a difference in doing something to learn in which you sacrifice, and doing something to learn in which you totally desensitize your most personal representation; your system of acknowledgement to all of mankind. The system of corrupt society is doing this to quash and rebellious forces that arise in thought; so as to better and more entirely and thoroughly hold one captive in their own body. The body is to be treated with however much respect or care as the owner of said property wishes. There is not a natural order in such a thought process. To repeat or do things again and again loses meaning; the basis for all things manmade. Man imposes his will, in the form of categorization of everything. This central force of humanity is what keeps things moving forward. To go against is treason.

Ceremony [only for those who FULLY wish to]

Ceremony [only for those who FULLY wish to]

Note: this ceremony, if properly done, WILL result in a temporary loss of identity!!!

The ceremony to release oneself from the grips and vices of the past is a difficult one. One has to prepare for days on end. The underlying motif is isolation, the loneliness must be made real to actually be able to let go. Solitary release, a test of survival; these things are necessary to partake in this ceremony.

The one to be the focus of the ceremony is called the Old One until the end, at which time they become the New One. The Old One must pass a week without any contact in the sparsely populated Colorado Rocky Mountains. There is a grove of trees that encompass a pond. That is where the journey begins.

The Old One is left there, with nothing but the clothes on their back. This is a very dangerous ceremony, but it is necessary to be dangerous in order to make it worthwhile; in order to threaten the memories to the point of release. They must forage and shelter themselves well, for this ceremony is to be done one week before their birthday. They must survive the horrors, in silence, of the treacherous Rockies.

The pond grove full of verdant pine is only the beginning. By the end of one week, they must find their way to a rocky outcrop near a glacier with a brook running out of it, about 150 miles away. Not all who partake in this risky rocky ceremony make it. The Old One must, while traveling to the outcrop, be thinking intently of every single thing in which they wish to forget, and have the strength to forgive themselves. That is the single most important goal in this ceremony, is to be focused upon forgiveness. The most important is to forgive oneself. Few people have the capability. Retreat is not an option; there is no turning back once it had begun.

The first night is the hardest, but that is not to say the others are unchallenging. To survive is to overcome the thought processes that, undoubtedly, the Old One has slipped in to. This journey is so difficult; it has so many risks mental, physical, and emotional. The risks are to enforce the letting go and forgiveness that need to be accomplished to actually complete the ceremony.

The Overseers, or people who follow the progress of the Old One, have only to observe. They shall not interfere, even if the Old One is on the verge of death.

There is no trail from the pond to the outcrop; they must blaze their own trail. This is both a physical and metaphorical sentiment. Their mind should not be thinking of survival, at all. The key to survival is to ignore it. If they are truly following the path they choose to make, survival will occur. If, at the end of the adventure into unknown territory, both physical and mental, they have completely forgiven themselves, the Overseers will call upon the Sage to perform the Cleansing. The rocky outcrop with the glacier is where it shall be performed. The Old One must lie on the glacier. The Sage stands, cloaked, masked. He says “you shall be released” the number of times that the person’s age is. Then the Overseers must snap three times while chanting in Latin “libertas [freedom]”. Then the Old One becomes the New One. Pacta Sunt Servanda.

Behind the Giant Curtain

Behind the Giant Curtain

When the sparkles settle down, and the audience is hushed, a loud growl erupts from behind the enormous glittering curtain. Women gasp, children wail, and men try to silence them. Then a voice:

“Laaaaaaddieeeeessss aaaaaaannnd gennnntlemennnnnn, you are in for a treat tonight. A recent expedition to the tropical island of Mbok Tu, once thought to be uninhabited, found this rare specimen. Women, now is the only time to leave, for once you see it, there is no forgetting.”

A few minutes pass.

“And now, the moment you have all been waiting for…”

There it is, in all its untamed glory”

Three Rules Of Power

Many people have tried to control every aspect of my life. This has led me to disband from traditional views and thoughts of common society. I am more independent for it. I somehow came to the conclusion that independence is the first form of power. The second is manipulation by the independent of other independents and dependents. To manipulate your reality by conquering other facets of personal life, one becomes truly powerful. Knowing what is formed and present, delving into the unknown about the known searches into your own mind for answers one never knew he owned. Possession of the economic basis for global consistency is the third rule of power. To attain power, one must find within themselves the gift. Very few people have the gift. Which makes them Elite. So in a way, the ones who controlled me made me discover within myself the power to control and the laws and rules that govern that power.

Secrets

Every day, everyone arises from slumber with hidden tidbits of knowledge, secrets meant to remain concealed. To deny such means is blasphemy to your own soul. Damning as some may be, they are what makes the individual so majestically unique. Secrets have that shying way of creating personalities unbeknownst to others. To reveal such secrets is to kill a part of yourself. However, some secrets are meant to be discovered. The moral jeopardy is the decision of which secrets are, in fact, supposed to be KEPT secret. Secrets are the life-blood of corrupt global society; they are the deciding factor in disputes over claims. Hiding away the truth is an expert’s actual job. The general public wants to hear only what it wants to hear. Yet at the same time, individuals have hidden desires that they wish could come to fruition, and the undiscovered truths set forth by society prevent this from happening in most, but not all, aspects of the civilian life.

Me vs. Joe

Reality and trust exist within all Men, but Man is foolish and picks out and persecutes only the imperfections, it is His system of trust. Imperfections lead to distrust. Distrust leads to a false sense of security. Knowledge is achieved through a sense of security, be it false or real. Power is a direct derivative of knowledge, which therefore means that to hold oneself accountable for their own knowledge is foolish. The knowledge that brings power must be worked and acquired by a group in order for it to be sufficient to provide security. So in order to gain power, you must have a group willing to seize the power. The group must also have better knowledge than the current group that is in power or it will never fulfill that goal.

Reality exists without mankind. Men choose to perceive it as they will. In focusing on superficial imperfections, mankind has lost sight of the larger underlying issue of our own fallen nature. Trust is no longer existent in our age. True trust is no longer to be found with the exception of the exceptional few. True Knowledge is not mere information or data, that is knowledge. True Knowledge is ascertainable only by removing the perspective lenses of our own distrust in order to be able to truly understand and apply the data that is set before us.
Elit Druin, "Through Knowledge: Power" True Knowledge IS power. The only true question that is left to those who acquire power is, "what am I to do with my talent?"
Those that have Power should try their best to share it with those that are of the constitution to use it to make the world more secure. To believe that one is meant to strive to gain power and prestige at the expense of others ability to grow is foolish.

Humility

As a not-so-popular kid, humility is a huge lesson, and an important one at that. Hardship has sailed the waters of my life, even before it was mine to behold. All the pain, mental, and physical aching, has made me humble, but it is a lesson easily forgotten. One should be reminded constantly to be humble, by example. Humility prevents hubris. Hubris leads to the downfall of the individual in society. When one believes themselves to be a better person, the ones who disagree will make sure to recognize this and halt it; hopefully in hope it will humbly teach them humility.

I Want To Reach

I Want To Reach

I want to reach for success, to be the

Best that I can be, it seems to me

That it’s just a dream, wishful thoughts

Of crimson fire, burning the desire into

My heart, from the mire I will rise

To start a nobler life, a happy one

An existence of love, of joy, of fun

A world where no one wishes waste and war

A society in serenity, a lesson from adversity

To proclaim diversity, with aims to be free

I want to reach out and have arms

To take me in, to wake up in love, with

A girl sent from above, I’ll be a gentleman for her

Bliss is her kiss, the word lips formed that changed my world

To be the one who isn’t blamed for everything

I don’t want to be the one who lives in pain,

In hate, with a fate shamed in vain, that’s not what I want.

I want to reach for all

Things good, plant a forest that goes growing to the sky

So I can shout it, show you my love when she comes

I want to reach and not pull back empty

He Said Write A Rhyme

He Said Write A Rhyme

He said write a rhyme, to right a wrong

Black and white; it doesn’t matter

We all sing the same song, for

Better or worse, this verse is for

Diversity, the racial inequalities, or

So they want you to believe, it’s all

A game to them, to shame the same way

To everyone; mother, daughter, father, son

No one can win this, to desensitize the lies

That they want you to hear, the words to

Fear, why is it all so segregated by

Those who instigate it, set to fade it

It needs to change, we’re all the same

No one color is best, no better than all the rest

We’re all people, not beasts or machines,

With dreams and screams, it seems

We all work for the joy of life

The knife at the root of strife

To live in harmony, race out of place, to

Face what needs to be done, to win

This fight against prejudice, precious

Little time to end the crimes

The two colored world undercover, under fire

When guns and gangs settle with blood,

Making cripples of crips and bloods

The violence needs to terminate, I’m determined

To stand for litigation, stand against annihilation

Against the mutilations of black and white, the fighting

Why it continues, in venues of alleys and backseats

Not totally in complete chaos, incomplete mainframe

Insane is the name of the game they call hate

Back to black and white and the fights from being

Just for being born, born into the war torn world

The corrupt disrupt those in peace

Pieces of revulsion show through in their compulsion

Why is it so separated, so segregated, so ungregarious?

The yesterday where it wasn’t so divided

Is long gone, in hiding, replaced now

With a today filled with hate and pain

Worries and sorrow, only angst fills tomorrow

Anxious to crush the frontrunners of serenity

The winners of the rush to calm and progression

All opposed live their regression in transgression

And at the end what does it bring? A ring of lost time

Sponsored by the crimes, and

There is no time better than

The here and now, shout it out loud

To end the game, the hate, the pain

Together we can make a difference,

We can inference the goodness, interfere with the dishonest

Make them promise on it that honesty will rule the schools

Make the workplace free of instigation,

To the gangs and violence: disintegration

Extermination, extradition; halt the exaltation

Permanent tranquility with humility and quality

Quality life filled full not with detestation

The deforestation of woods of ungood

This is the goal of all to fill the gaps in the wall of all people

Make us one again, put together anew, unbroken

The view of matching ambitions over the differences

That distinguish us physically, the individuality

They are strengths, the morality complete again

Will be the end result if the cultic masses

Follow the ethics in their hearts,

Now, quick, its time to start

Let’s fix what we have wrecked before it’s too late.

Annex the potency of humanity to repair the wear and tear.

I Can Tell You All About Yourself

I Can Tell You All About Yourself

I can tell you all about yourself

But it would waste my time

Golden just a dream; black as coal

Your soul. Fantasy, that feature of you

That comes alive, from angel to demon

Vengeful for acts, undone

Regret lives next door

A living epitaph of all things good

A raging machine with gears going, going, going

You make me want to disappear

Dissolve, vanish in the fog

Deluded, your image of normality

It is not right to kill a soul

Murdering, your only business

Depriving others of joy, you destroy

Decimating those who love you

I was a blanket to keep you warm,

Then you used me too much,

Now I am just a filthy, tattered rag

And it is all your fault

You were my mortar, now I’m a martyr

A failed one at that. You held me together

Now you tear me apart at a glance

I could tell you about yourself

But I will not waste my time.

Insult Poem

Insult Poem

Your dusty words

Are filled with repetition

They are a dull-edged sword

That can’t even bruise

You seek for retribution

You value a vendetta

But you already lost before it began

Because of your lack of insight

You are just a burnt-out bulb

A fresh cut wound will become you

By the ninetail and whip I will use

By the ball and chain mace of poetry

My words will squeeze you in a vice

A vice of cold hard steel vocabulary

All because you’re secondary

I dominate this chessboard

I am the king, my words are my pieces

You are just a lowly pawn

With no one and no words

To say how you wish for a win

As much as it hurts you to hear

You lost, face it, you can’t beat me

I’m a master of the art of succeeding

Poem for Jordan

Poem for Jordan

With a laugh I couldn’t resist
You drew me close to you
When you smiled it made me smile too
You drew me close to you

Down a long blissful path of love,
I followed you.
The destination wasn’t even important
As long as I walked beside you

Yes, there were hills and rocks and caves
That got in our way
And forks in our paths
Where we got separated
But only for the blink of an eye

Slowly, though the times would grow longer
And more frequent in between
Each time I would miss you more

On this went until a final branch
Where our paths disentangled...forever
The treetops closed and light went dark
I couldn’t go on, I sat down to cry
And a river of tears became a lake
What had I done to deserve this?

On that question remained
Until I figured out the truth
It was then the teardrops stopped
It was you, not I, who blew the deal

You, with your cherry grin of lies
You, with your non-existent surprise,
No, you see, I was always right
YOU are the one who will be missing out on ME tonight.