One Plus...I'm here again, once moreBattling things difficult to undertakeI close my eyes, deep breath beforeI charge in with violence for others' sakeDone this so many times pastEyes blur with memory's pullHow long can I ever lastWhen belly of beast is never fullWanting that hand of a friendbrother-in-arms we areStaying past the world's endwearing last battle's scarThe one that I can trustSingular hope which I survivePulling Home papers from the dustBig breath 'fore final diveAlways more to face and contestSurvivial hanging by a spider's threadTo be like us is not the bestBut we help heal hollow headsWanting that hand of a friendbrother-in-arms we areStaying past the world's endwearing last battle's scarWeap for those that already fallIt was never meant to be aloneVibrate feelings through these wallsShow me Mirr whem I'm at HomeWanting that hand of a friendbrother-in-arms we areStaying past the world's endwearing last battle's scar
CM16Chimerical Machinations 16- Scattered Memories & A New FriendI had devoted most of my time to the study of NoS- what few bits and pieces the Axioms were able to gather, it was hard separating fact from fiction. Things like "he was a merc". He "was an artist". He "had an abused childhood". He "has a fascination with hair". He "can't sleep alone". He "was in a child gang". Things like that, no real reason, most likely rumors started by scared and confused villagers.I woke up one morning after yet another non-stop night of working. I had been trying to produce something to show The Council, something of more importance than figuring out my personal lineage. Making "I know which kid will be born...pretty sure about that," seem exciting was a difficult task. I yawned, stretched (letting my back pop in a strangely satisfying way) and slid out of bed. I walked over to the bathroom, or at least what passed for one; sink built out from the wall, bare toilet, improvised shower head.
The Old LetterTo whomever is currently "in charge":While busily undertaking my daily tasks of balancing personal matters with the duties of being a mayor of an up-an-coming city, I felt an usually strong breeze blow by my window. Despite my old age and my present tasks at hand, the memory came back in that moment.The city.Hurriedly, I threw a few essentials into a small brown leather sack (not too unlike when I first left...come to think of it, it might have been the same one...), put a few meetings on hold, pushed back a bill, and left a note saying I would be bad in a few days due to "unforeseen personal occurrences". I ran back home as fast as I could (more like a half-run at my age, better safe than sorry) and went to the stone wall that separated my back patio from the rest of the yet-developed part of the forest where I lived. I felt along the wall for the tiny niche I had left as a marker for myself.Up, left, three; over and under, and one to me.A small corner of the ground shudde
CM 15Chimerical Machinations 15- A New Life"And I want a moment to be real,Wanna touch things I don't feelWanna hold on, and feel I belong."-Johnny RzeznikI felt tempted to just stop writing here, end the story as is. Perhaps talk about how my life held the same constant boredom except that now I was more aware of it. Even worse off would be to lie and say that I was captured only to skip ahead in the story to when I finally met back up with Bethelon again. But I realized I would be skipping ahead important facts and information crucial to understanding what happened.I was a bit ashamed ditching Bethelon like that. True, I could have told him something, made a plan, whatever. But when I walked out and (essentially) changed allegiances with the Axioms, I was doing it for myself. Ever since I came to Mirr people had been doing things for me, directing me. It was like I was just along for the ride with no real sense of personal purpose. When it all clicked in that one moment I knew I had
CM 14Chimerical Machinations 14- My Own DecisionsAs I woke up to my blurry vision showing me that I was still inside on the couch, my mind happily wandered off in other directions, not too concerned with having a tail, or whiskers that twitched, or having to put in a new order of logic in my brain.I just laid there, in the pre-waking bliss, scooting up to the back of the couch. The ceiling stared back at me, simple thin wood (pine? redwood? I'd have to check it out back on Home which one) showing the early signs of aging.I could do that, yeah...the thoughts drifted about lazily in my head. Build that, work with wood again...build something big- naw, naw, too early, gotta get back in the swing of things...gotta remember how to have that confidence, that knowledge, working of the wood...still...I could do something like that one day...yeah, keep me busy, all to myself, the know-how, supplies, and alone time...my own thing...No, nothing secluded. Something where people can see it.yeah...s
Chimerical Machinations 13Chimerical Machinations 13:We had been walking for what felt like an hour or so when I noticed the sunlight streaming from the tops of the trees. The trees were so thick it was hard to see it otherwise, except for climbing up. The thought seemed like a good idea, but Bethelon tugged me into a new direction, his face just as stern as when we had left."Come on. Focus." He glared at me, and kept moving forward. I shrugged and obeyed.I started to wonder about all the long-distance walking I had done. Back on Eart- (no, Home, I gotta keep remembering) Home I would be pretty tired, yet I had been walking here with no difficulty whatsoever. It didn't worry me at the moment as randomly wandering through a forest did."Say, uhh
you know where we're going Bethelon? Like, anywhere? Feels like we're just wandering
" I scratched the back of my head."Yes," he said, not bothering to turn around.I waited a few seconds for him to finish his sentence, which he never did."Yes what?"He si
CM PrologueHello there,I'm not sure if I should put my name here or not, so I won't, just to keep safe. I don't want anyone finding me after this.I don't know why you picked this book up; maybe it was sitting on the end of a shelf, or laying on a table in a coffeeshop, or sticking awkardly in a large pile. Maybe it was the shape; just normal enough to not arouse suspicion, but just unusual enough to catch your eye. Maybe someone passed this off to you, with a hushed look in their eyes with a refusal to explain.The choice to read this is entirely up to you, and...one I cannot express enough gratitude for. Personal choice is the most powerful...I should explain.What's on these following pages is a story. A story about myself, who I was, what I am now, and everything inbetween.About a world called Mirr.About the truth, and the struggle to achieve it.About people, peace understanding, unity and (as corny as it sounds, i'll admit) friendship.Please don't hark upon me. My words often switch fr
CM 12Chimerical Machinations 12: True People of MirrI was led into a dark green tent and forced into a small wooden chair. There was yet another person in a black cloak sitting opposite of me. He briefly looked up with their arrival, and gave a quick wave of his hand. They paused for a moment, then left and took positions near the entrance to prevent anyone else coming in.I sat there, unmoving, unsure what to do next, as the figure rose to their feet, as if tired, and walked outside. I could hear him muttering something to the two who brought me in, then came back in alone and resumed his position."Now." His clasped his hands together, not in joyous glee, but as if doing something that he had done so many times before and finally getting tired of. And his voice sounded a bit high for a male, was he a she? "I've been the one assigned to interrogate you, so let's just try and get this over with as quickly as possible, for both our sakes." He leaned forward, and I was able to catch a glimme
A Small NoteOne word, that can be interpreted in many ways, most of them wrong. Beast, monster, heathen, unfit to exist.A title; sometimes earned, other times branded.What I am about to say I say without pride, although a few years ago I would've. Now I just say it simply, as stating a fact: not happily, nor with a note of sadness. I say this because it is true.I know that doing this will brand me as an outcast due to others' narrowmindedness, and unwillingness to be open to people who are different.Sometimes, as I fall asleep, I wonder about myself, if I'm going crazy or not, and how I can tell. Someone would say it's because of it. All I know is that one of you out there doesn't think like that, and they are helping me as best they can with what limited resources there are.Something inside me asks me why I'm doing this. Something else replies because it's the truth; some can't handle the truth.Maybe it's a part of my religion.I am MindOfGenius, and I am Godless.
Never too lateYou can't always be who you've dreamed you've been.It's never too late to be who you could've been.It's never too late to be who you would've been.It's never too late to get better.It's never too late to be you again.
Chant of Loyalty (Pledge of Allegiance parody)I chant my loyaltyTo the flagOf a bigoted Christian nationAnd to the religionFor which it standsAnd you mustBow to GodOr we'll kill youWith bigotryAnd justice for none
UntitledCe n'est pas la tour de pise qui penche, crétin !C'est tout le reste...Cette foutue planète est bancale !Cette tour est sûrement le seul truc qui tient la route, ici...
If everything you drew came to lifeIf everything you drew came to life, what would you draw?Would you draw at all?What if you were not happy with your creation, could you erase it?No. You could not get rid of it or sell it. It's yours, it is a product of your imagination, created by your hands. No one would accept your creation as they could make their own.Would the world be perfect? An act of pure magic not explainable by science which could stop poverty and end sadness?What about those unable to use their hands? They would be powerless, unable to use their new ability. And those less artistically gifted? Weak.Would the tattoos also come to life? Would they crawl out of peoples' skin? Would it be painful? Bloody? Or would it happen silently, unseen, in the middle of the night?And what would upset the people more- the scars on their skin, or the loss of the art they found so beautiful that no amount of pain could stop their desire to have it permanently marked on their body?Would the disturbing nightmares of the
OneEvery person you meet has so much more depth than you perceive.You see it as it is, to you.You could be so much with every person you come across.Yet, you choose who is who, what is what, and where is where.You make your life, according to your decisions.We have to unite, not compete.Their beauty does not detract from your own.You are them. We are one.The media spotlights differences in a sea of similarities.We’re focused on the violence.Too crazy to see the peace calming its way through the storm of repression.Too distracted to understand what we’re fighting for –– are already rights. We’re just trying to align them into law.We are free individuals treated like sheep.Do we elect our shepherd? And if so, is it because we trust him to lead us, or because it is easier to follow?If we don’t take action, are we not on the side of the oppressor?Isn’t silence the talk of cowards?It is important to
You May Not Wish to Follow These ThoughtsOn Damage (or On the Agreement to Feast) Beyond the occasional song, drawing, painting, story, or art performance, what are you doing to make Art a part of your existence? Beyond your "made for an audience" output, have you considered all the times you are alone with only the universe as your audience? Do you make Art then? Imagine, if you will, your life as a performance - who is the audience/receiver of your signal? Posit the existence of a god, or gods, or perhaps imagine you were injected with recording devices - at birth - or part way through your days, or even that the multitude of insects that flourish in your surroundings are the bio-mechanical recording devices of some vast incomprehensible network that is always watching and recording for posterity the details of your life - the exciting, the mundane, the pathetic, the inspiring, the humiliating - all moments, in company or alone. How are you making these moments artful or entertaining for your
Glimpse of Pure Innocencethey stare at me when others look awaythat single spark single spark of innocencewilling to share if only for a momenta brief glimpse of understanding mein their all-knowing-bliss so i smile back