kyroe's Blog

I take a seat on an old couch in the pouring rain, staring at the clouds coating the night sky...the bright lights from the windows of the living quarters around never seem to break the cool darkness, but only make it that much more beautiful in its loneliness...there are lights strung up, but I'm not sure for what purpose, as they don't seem to serve as much more than glowing orbs along barely visible chords, a few flickering on and off, as though struggling to show their worth alongside their ever-lit brethren. There are also some birds of unknown breeds circling over the settlement, and the odd person to pass by, never dares to utter a word, most likely for fear of breaking the sentimentality that has taken root in our very beings. 

What a beautiful night...and to think, this is all happening inside of a videogame...

I would go somewhere where a lone tree stands beside a stream, green grass surrounds it, a few flowers strewn about, here and there, where petals, leaves, and dandelion seeds fill the air, and there's dense forest all around, making it my own secret place. There'd be a small waterfall upstream where I could watch fish jump about, struggling against the current. The sun would set just over the trees, bringing the light through the leaves, and rendering the view like that of a vivid painting... I want to sit there, against the lone tree in the middle, waving my hand along the current of the stream, every so often brushing against the scales of an underwater adventurer, watching the clouds in the sky go by slowly...and fall asleep there, not a thought of the outside world present in my little piece of paradise.

The turtle started slow, visualizing the finish-line as he made his way past the starting point. The hares, and all the other woodland creatures zipped past him on their way, only focused on the finish-line, never paying much attention to the turtle. The turtle continued to look toward the horizon, envisioning the line, and finally finishing, maybe even winning, though in the back of his mind, he knew the race was already over. Along the way he noticed a pebble, nice and shiny, then more pebbles, leaves that had fallen from the trees above, the pond, and the fish in it, the trees, bare and shivering, the lines and footprints made by the other participants, logs covered in moss, etc etc. All of the things he had seen, but never really noticed, all surrounded him with a sense of wonder and understanding as he went by.

Along the way he met the tiniest of creatures, going about on their daily routine, larger animals relaxing and doing as they saw fit, not too worried about competing with anyone else, and even a few other turtles, who had come by to see the race, but ended up walking alongside him for a time. Of course, everything went back to its niche once the sun had set, but even in his loneliness, he saw the beauty of the cloak of night, the moonlight wondrously intimate, the stars sparkling like the scales of the fish in the pond, which reflected the moonlight, and gave off the most beautiful glow. He marveled at all he had seen, night, and day, night, and day, but with all of the wonder, he saw disappointing things as well. Large, loud machines that ate through the beautiful trees, large metal monsters that took the trees away, only leaving stumps, the humans who made holes in those he had known for some time, using metal snakes that seemed to never move.

One day, he realised he was lost, a bit confused by everything he thought he knew, with no known way to return to the path. After stumbling around for a while, and talking to some of the native animals, he realised that he had lost the drive to finish the blasted race. He knew the race was a weekly one, and he could always have found himself back there if he truly wanted to, but he really didn't. He decided to go and find a nice lake, and swim around for a while. There, he met a beautiful angelfish. She was like him, even though she could swim circles around him, and he liked to take it nice and slow. She was smart, insightful, kind, and best of all, she too took the time to notice the intricacies and beauty of it all. They spent days on end just swimming and conversing, and they fell in Love. They became inseparable, and decided to swim off into the large, unknown ocean, to see more of the beauty of it all, fin in flipper(?), and spent their time basking in it all, doing new things, and meeting the strangest characters. Eventually they returned to the pond and spent the rest of their days just enjoying their time together, and the beauty in just that.

The End.

The hearts play melodies,
of endless wonder and Love,
The faeries dance 'round and 'round,
The wings' glow reach stars above,
And they fill the sky with magic,
Dancing on air,
The two, they split the moon,
around their necks, like pendants, the two halves hang there,
And no matter how far they were,
The two souls never would cry,
They'd just look down at the two halves...of the same moon...
A promise, made to glow brightly in the sky.

A random song that popped into my head...

Boundaries...In a world with such varied inhabitants, where exactly do ours lie? The earth is like a gumball dispenser on a sidewalk or in a supermarket, a variety of colours crowding a clear container, advertising to the playful youth of the world the joys within, the silver crank gleaming in the light, silently challenging its audience to come and see what's behind the door...all for the sacrifice of a single coin. A shiny new quarter leaves the eager hand of a child, and the hand travels to the crank, each click an unwritten signature, signing over the quarter to the machine, knowing full well what'll be behind the door, yet unsuspecting of what will make it different, or the same, as its successor. Will it taste like raspberries?...maybe watermelon?...it might even be a rare sour one...whatever the outcome, and no matter how different it may be from the one the next child will obtain, and the next, and the next, one thing remains constant: they are all, more or less, different in some way. It is the same with human beings: we are all unique in some way, be it our situations, our personalities, our hopes and dreams, whether we have them at all, the paths and stages we've gone through to get to where we are now, our burdens, our talents, our families, our thoughts, our opinions, our fears, the things that bring us distress, or the things that bring us comfort...the fact is that no two people are ever truly the same. Man cannot, in a world crowded with those of his own kind, avoid human interaction. Try as he might, it is inevitable that he will come voice to voice, face to face, or skin to skin with another, and when that happens, how will he, limited only to knowledge of himself, recognize, and respect, the boundaries of others? It seems that, like the child and the gumball machine, we all make sacrifices in order to benefit in some way from our interactions with others. The narcissistic learn to listen to the stories of others, those who long for the touch of another learn to look, but not touch, those who desire to always be around their significant others learn to give them space...but the question always remains: how much sacrifice must be must be made in order to continue to benefit from our interactions? At what point have we gone "too far"? When does "Love" become "obsession" in the eyes of the loved? When does "touching" become "harassment" in the eyes of the touched? When does "protection" turn to "suffocation" in the eyes of the protected? When does "Yes" turn to "No"...?  But boundaries can also be too close, and too easily crossed...When does "just listening" turn into "being secretive"? At what point does "space" become "too much space"? and how far is it between "controlling oneself" and "being neglectful"? With our fleeting and ever-changing interactions, how are we to study the other party in order to  learn just how much of our nature to sacrifice?  Why are we told to be ourselves, when we risk pushing others away? And just how do we find those whose boundaries fit our natures enough that we don't have to sacrifice anything at all? In such a varied world, do they exist? or are we a civilization of neverending possibilities, with no sure fits for us all? If we cannot fully explore our natures without another, were we created to never fully express ourselves at all? How cruel a creator must we have then, to have given us so many variables, only to watch us run like rats in a maze, searching for cheese on a scented piece of paper...

It is a sad fate when one must fear the future...To look upon something as unknown as tomorrow with widened eyes, a racing heart, and a cold chill, when in all actuality it is the unknown that makes it so harmless. The "what ifs" become "maybes" and "probablies", turning to "Most likelies" and "inevitablies", fed from the cups of our doubts and paranoia. While the starry-eyed optimists look upon it as a world of endless wonder, a never-ending train of possibilities, all of which dot the ether like stars, sprinkled erratically on a dark background, their twinkles drawing in the focus of those who listen only to the songs of their unborn descendants, unsung with sweet harmony, painting stories of a world that will right the wrongs of our fathers and theirs, tears of joy falling from their mind's eye, the cleverest of doubts creep up on the rest of us, digging under our skin, and tainting the joyful memories not yet lived, our trains turned to the eerie ghost stories of cars filled with roving spirits, those who came before us, who too feared so much the background behind the stars, that they were swallowed up by it, sent spiraling into an abyss of their own creation, greeted by the teeth and nails of monsters no child would ever dare to dream, screaming out in smoke, breathing in ash, drowning their realities with tainted water, and flying high on waxen wings, returning to the bitter thorny songs of their ancestors, eternally trapped in a perpetual chorus of disharmony, leaving the listeners' ears bleeding. Why do we acknowledge that which cannot harm us, an incorporeal entity with no intent but to be, or not to be? Why are we the painters of its form, and who was foolish enough to hand us the brush? Why is it that we all can't paint the happy flowers, and abstract masterpieces of our once-enjoyed youth? Are our ancestors to blame for our follies? Is it not they who have left us records of their mistakes, in the hopes that we'd never make them ourselves, in both moving, and immobile form, or did they leave us roadmaps to our inevitable ruin, their strings pulled by the puppeteers behind the veil of society, in an attempt to keep us all in line? If all we know is what we've learned from our limited resources as man, and as woman, how are we to stray from their paths, if we've been placed amidst the maze they've created? And once we've unknowingly fallen into their infinite routine, how are we to erase our horrific drawings, in order to once again paint flowers and suns, in gratitude to our childhood selves for keeping us safe from the horrors we'd soon face...within time...within "reality"...within ourselves...?

I am the wolf, 
Watch how I soar;
I'll bear to you my fangs,
Now hear the echoes of my roar.
I am an ember,
I'll burn the sky;
You'll all suffocate in my presence,
Reaching for mercy as you die.
I am the wind,
I'll toss you aside;
To you, I am an enigma,
Watch with envy as I glide.
I am the water,
In a never-ending flow;
I'll rain down from the skies above,
And drown you from the ground below.
I am the Earth,
I created you, don't you see?
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
In the end you'll all return to me.
I am the sky,
You look to my majesty, and you kneel;
I fill you with awe and wonder,
I can be disastrous or benevolent...it all depends on how I feel.
I am existence,
I've bound your fates with silver threads;
You see me all around you,
I am all that fills your heads.
I am emotion,
Your addiction and your chains;
From your disappointment in humanity,
To your sentimentality when it rains.
I am logic,
Coldness in truth;
Detached from those wretched emotions,
That blind the starry eyes of youth.
I am time,
No matter how much you have, it'll never be enough;
You all think you'll live forever,
But your headstones and urns will call your bluff.
I am the universe,
Starry infinitesse;
Planets, asteroids, black holes, and moons,
Civilizations in excess.
I am the multiverse,
The sheer number of my universes, unknown.
You think yours is the only one?
Well you are far from being alone.
Why haven't I destroyed you?
Why create you, only to watch you fall?
Because I want to watch you do it yourselves,
Forever tormented by the fact that you mean nothing at all...

The wolf, as fast and ferocious as he is, nature trembles in his presence, all matter of man and microbe aware of his capabilities. His ferocity striking terror into the hearts of the smallest creatures, whilst the largest struggle to keep up, often cut down in their prime before they catch a glimpse of their canine assailant. He runs, the world flowing by, mixed into erratic splashes of this colour and that, the true nature of existence laid out before him, inconceivable strokes made lies and speculation by creatures that could never enter his realm of truth, the only creature not to sing sweet songs of madness as lullabies to the ears of the innocent, words that wrap themselves around a helpless mind, wringing from it droplets of truth and understanding as it expands to the breaking point, swelled in two halves, the rope of lies slowly shifting, one half set to shift into the other- the half filled with the sweet poison of peeled cherries, coating it crimson, the shell made as soft as the peeled cherries, the rope of lies absorbed, becoming the central seed that extends and takes root in the newly formed ignorance and conditioning; the half filled with the bitter taste of aloe, coated with a green that fills the eyes, the shell made stronger, the rope loosened and destroyed, reborn as hooks, prying eyes open to see the bitter horrors of truth, tears of emerald streaming down their once-rosey cheeks filled with hope for the world, now welted by the sting. The wolven figure stops, the night air embracing him with arms of beautiful loneliness, the wind whispering comforting words of silence into his ears, as his mother cries for him, her tears cold, so he sings to her a song from deep inside his soul, rippling through the drowning skies, her night's eye looking down sorrowfully at her child, saddened by his inescapable fate, the ability to see the true world a bitter taste on his fangs

A story popped into my head last night about a god and a goddess.

They were...whatever you call the godly equivalent of marriage, and deeply in love. She cared for him, and he for her. She was the goddess of creation, life, the new, and the beautiful, he was the god of destruction, death, the old, and the terrible, but no matter their differences, they complimented each other like yin and yang. She created many things, as her visions and imagination were vast. He'd watch her in awe sometimes, just weaving and creating new things- worlds, universes, realities, and life.

After some centuries, he looked over at one of her older creations and decided that it had become too old, too terrible, and too much of an annoyance to him, and it had to be destroyed. It was one of her very very early works, and she had done well in creating it, but it was outdated in its universal laws. It was a universe, one which he called "Sha'acth" or "The oldest". Sha'acth went by the laws of "from the throes of one, another shines brightest".

When there was nothing but sadness, happiness was treasured.

Where there was darkness, light was sought out.

Where there was war, the beings cried out for peace.

He saw them and pitied them.

As he watched, he saw them become more and more horrible over time which wasn't long to him, as time was their concept, and he existed outside of it. He pulled back the veil of existence that his Love had put over each of her creations, and saw that everything was connected, so much so that the littlest decision from one person on one end of a planet, affected another far, far away.

He pitied them even more than he had before

He saw the outdated concepts of emotions, and the trivialities they all focused so hard on...and he no longer pitied them...They exasperated him.

He saw how distracted they became from the beautiful things his Love had created for them...the things she worked so hard on just to make them happy....and he loathed them.

He decided that they had now fallen in his jurisdiction, and as endearing as his Love's nostalgia was, it was time to crush this odd little universe that sparked his anger.

The goddess ran to him, begging, pleading for him to spare it, as it was her oldest...her first...and she loved it. She loved all of her creations, as they were her children...her imagination incarnate...her masterpieces…but this one...it held a special place in her heart. It was the first, and although there would be more…better ones…newer…different, for sure, but there would never be a last.

The god wanted so much to put the universe out of its misery...to get rid of the rotten little thing...as he saw no beauty in it...none at all. But he loved her and no amount of loathing could overpower his love for her. Truth be told, he was jealous at times...of the way she saw beauty in everything.

The way she spoke of the things she created.

The way her eyes would light up whenever she thought of something new.

He destroyed other things she created when it was time. It was the way it all worked, and she accepted that. She loved him not for what he did or was capable of, but for him, and so she never hated or became cross with him for the destruction and death he rained. She even stopped to make things just for him to destroy.
 
But this...?

No… It had to go on.

He looked to her, the tears in her eyes, the despair in her look, the sorrow in her voice…He loved her so much, but he couldn't understand why...why did she care so much about this rotten...thing? He tried to explain to her how she could try again...create a copy of it...many copies, ones that would turn out much better...but she begged and pleaded once again. He looked around...really looked, and saw that that was what she had done time and again…created copies. Each one was better than the last, but none as rotten as the first. He was curious as to why she valued the insignificant little thing so, when she had created so many more. He stooped down to her level, wiping the tears from her eyes, and made her a deal: If she could show him what was worth saving about the "Sha'acth", then he'd spare it, and never speak of destroying it again. He handed it to her and looked on, curious as to what he wasn't seeing that she was. She picked out one planet at random out of the entire universe, Earth.
He pointed out the corruption and evil, the distractions and war, the hatred and ugliness. She pointed out the generosity and good, those that still yearned for the beautiful things she had bestowed upon them, those who advocated peace, those who sought love, and those who saw beauty, even in his so-called “ugliness”. He traced the strings that connected everything on, below, and above the Earth, pointing out all of the terrible outcomes. For each terrible outcome he found, she showed him just as many wondrous results. It seemed that for each aspect of Sha’acth he found fault with, there was something good and wonderful that counteracted it.

He had nothing left. Nothing up his sleeve to stump her with, as it was her creation, and she knew the ins and outs of it better than he did. He had been beaten, and she had proved its worth to him, but before he would leave it alone, he had one final question: Apart from the fact that it was her first, and there was good in the creatures, on a larger scale it was all so ugly and artificial at that point in its progression, so how could she let it go on like that? She smiled and pointed to a little girl, sitting on a swing in a playground all by her lonesome, the other children off doing their own things, and the parents having conversations, singing in the sweetest voice the god had ever heard. The song wasn’t really about anything, just a little girl’s thoughts in the form of a song. The voice of a child…one child…one little girl…a single soul amongst a countless mass of souls…a god mesmerized by one single, tiny voice. The goddess directed the god’s attention to a group of leaves, dancing in the wind, flowing to and fro, no reason or rhyme, just a gentle breeze, tossing the leaves about, not a destination in sight. The god was perplexed by the complex simplicity of a breeze nothing can take ahold of, lifting leaves, which were just as solid as anything else, and actually carrying them along, creating the illusion of the leaves dancing in the air, and flying about, as if by magic. Finally, the goddess guided the god to a region of the planet where it was raining. The god was even more perplexed at this phenomenon. Even being what he was, it was utterly intriguing to him. The clouds were untouchable, and yet they held water. The water fell from the clouds, but instead of flowing out, or gushing down in one large flood, it fell in individual droplets. The rain was the most mystifying thing he had seen so far, but it wasn’t just because of the way it fell, or the clouds themselves, but also the water. Water could be held, shaped, and even thrown, yet it always leaked, it could never really be touched, and it rejoined other bodies of water so effortlessly, as though it had never been apart. The god found himself staring for what seemed like centuries before he realized what his Love saw in Sha’acth: It was never about the big picture, but rather, the little things. He knew there was so much more, but he understood. From one small child’s voice, a soft tune carried by the wind, to the smallest pool of water from a drop of rain, the little things would always be the most captivating, the most mysterious, the most genuine, and would always endure. Long after the creatures brought about their own doom…long after time had handed in its resignation letter…long after the universe’s expiration date came due…the little things would still be there, maybe not the same things, but there’d be other little things to admire, and question to no avail.

The god kept his word to his Love, and never again spoke of, nor considered, destroying Sha’acth. In fact, he would often be found gazing at something new, neglecting to destroy even the things his Love created for that purpose, only destroying them when he found nothing interesting about them at all, but otherwise keeping his own collection of things to look at, and often defaulting back to Sha’acth, and regaling his Love with stories of his findings, both new and old. Although his destruction rate cooled down, he still loved to torture and/or kill any creatures that dared to endanger or neglect the things he looked upon with such fondness.