In a Society that has Abolished Every Kind of Adventure, the Only Adventure is to Abolish the Society.

Adventure

I suppose, in the end, it is all a Machiavellian exercise more than anything else. If indeed the ends justify the means, then anything done to achieve them is perfectly acceptable legal and fair in the field of play. If Machiavelli was a pompous twat, however, then there may be a storm brewing that there is an ass-kicking coming that may not be a particularly grand and marvelous thing to participate in from either side of the line.

On the other hand, if you want to take a moral high-ground and then come out and play dirty pool, is it my fault if you get your ass explosively handed to you by the aggrieved party? If you dirty box from the clinch, then you deserve to have your fucking instep destroyed like a scurrying waterbug across a kitchen floor during an open house.

There is a war of words coming, Gentle Readers. It is a war that will pit the Good against Evil. I do not say that as a metaphor, I say that as Truth. If you stand with a man who reeks of the putrescence that he has surrounded himself with since he crawled from the womb, then you are a bad guy, and you get what you fucking deserve when you get kicked to the floor and motherfucking curb-stomped.

You want to be on the right side of history for this. When your children’s children look back and ask you why you stood with Madness instead of the hand of Liberty and Love, you need to look them in the eye and say…? What? “Lock her up?” “Mexico Will pay For It?” “No Collusion?” Are you indeed so well and genuinely mindfucked that you think any of that has ever been crucial to the Dumpster Fuck In Chief?

You need to take a breath and realize that you are supporting a man who wishes pedophiles well. He stood with Nazis and endorsed violence. He called Mexican immigrants rapists, derided women and people of color. He has Stasi-like kidnappings happening in America, even as I am writing this. Most importantly, he has been stealing tens of millions since the first second of his abortive presidency.

You look at the eyes of those future generations and tell me that the sacrifice of Democracy was worth it because you are uncomfortable watching people who look different than you having a cookout, that you are okay with people getting their doors kicked in and murdered. That “All Lives Matter,” as long as they are the ones you get to carefully fucking curate.

Anger is expected, encouraged, and commended.

The revolution WILL BE TELEVISED.

Pain, The Universal Equalizer

Brain Demons

I went to bed yesterday before dinner, hell, it was closer to lunch than dinner now that I think about it. I went upstairs to lie down because I had a migraine. I don’t bother trying to put the migraines in the “Top 10 I Have Ever Had” territory since they hit nearly every day. Still, I know when one is terrible, and I want to talk about why last night was unusually unsettling for me.

Generally, when I get a migraine, it is a miniature sun just behind my left eye. A heat that grows more and more intense until certain things occur, systematically and always in the same order a far as I can remember.

First, I will get incredibly nauseous. Anyone who has had a lousy headache, never mind any migraine activity, can relate to this. Think hangover headache with that still drunk need to puke.

Second, the vertigo sets in. Standing because an endurance sport and even sitting at an upward angle gets too much after a short time. I have never been a fan of the room spinning, I am sure I am not alone there. What makes it worse is that the spinning, again for my case, is multi-axis. The room spins yes, but then it does a delightful Rubiks Cube thing and does the same job on the vertical axis of my Universe.

Thirdly is what I like to call the buffet. At this point, I have put myself to bed or, if I am with someone in the know, been put to bed. Vomiting, Nose Bleeds happen most of the time. However, Disorientation, Cotton Mouth, Excessive Sweating, Chills, and Hot Flashes have been known to crop up. Plus, let us never forget, the ever piercing and growing pain of that fiery microcosm in the center of my skull.

Lastly, and it is always the last thing to happen before the end, I lose hope. See, no one ever talks about the psychological impact of being in constant pain. They are all busy telling you it is all fake, grab an ice pack, take two aspirin and be a man, or whatever gender expression you desire.

I cry a lot. I lay on my bed, and I weep, and I feel no shame in it because pain is a universal feeling. Not one of us alive has ever not shed a tear when our bodies’ pain has reached a certain point.

Irony? The crying makes the pain worse, and I feel more pathetic, and it is a cycle that goes on and on until one of two things happen, leading to the same conclusion.

One, I pass out from the pain. My brain gets to a certain point, and then some deep and reptilian part of it shuts off to ensure that I can survive the thing. It is a terrifying thing, lying in bed watching a show or even just staring at the wall. Suddenly, it is 8, sometimes 12 hours later. My seizures occasionally hit me like this, but unlike them, this is almost an instant thing, Ia m in Point A, then I am Point B. No dreaming, no waking up a minute to roll over, just straight unconsciousness.

Two, and I suppose this is the better of the two scenarios, I go to sleep. It is a dark and stormy sleep as the migraine isn’t gone. Like a thunderstorm at night, though, I can hear the thunder of the pain. Still, it is somehow distant, occurring in a slightly different locale.

Then, with both, I wake up, usually very early in the morning, and I fight again. I look forward to the battle because, one day, I will learn how to defeat them ultimately, or I will simply learn to deal with the pain better.

Now uplifting, but I needed to get it out of my head, and you were lucky enough to hang on for the ride.

Then, There Are Dark Days

Dark Days

Dark Days. Least fun of all the days there are, but they need to be spoken of regardless of our desire. These are not the anniversaries, those you can prepare for over time. These are not the birthdays, those you can steel yourself for those. Now, these are the days that were special for such hyper-specific reasons that no one but you both knew them.

What today is, for the point of this, doesn’t matter. Plus, even I like to keep certain things behind doors that only I and perhaps a very small few get to go into and discreetly look around before reverentially closing the door again.

I tend to be very snappish on dark days, a shorter fuse than even I have. I couldn’t tell you why. I suppose it has to do with trying to hold all of the other things back against, trying to not flood the mind with the negative bound up in the wonderful.

The problem with the dark is that no matter how hard you try, the light seeps into it. Usually, I am fully in support of this. Still, some things need to stay the same in our memory and not be purged away like a forgotten phone number replaced with some very Disney version of the facts.

It is better for the soul. I think that we remember it the way it was and not how we would have had it been. Sometimes there were fights when you want there you want to be kissed. You want there to be laughter, and all there was in actuality was tears. Disguising the dark with a rainbow is a disservice to the memory of the things that genuinely occurred. A false way of making yourself feel more like a real little boy instead of the puppet we all must infrequently be.

On dark days like this, I tend to hermit even more than I usually do and write or read a great deal. As much as I would love to tell you I am going to write copious amounts, I am most likely going to read comic books on my computer and try not to yell at my children. They have no idea why I am upset and why explaining it would only upset me more.

The weather is definitely not helping, although the clouds will most likely aid the temperature and not allow my brain to get to unparalleled pain levels. I don’t think we need to go anywhere today, so it will be a quiet day if nothing else. Even if I do have to go out, it is most likely for a quick little errand that will most likely do me some good to look at the sky instead of walls and ceiling.

I know I am the height of Bear Emo by saying things like dark days, but the words are in there, and all I am is the court stenographer. You don’t think I actually come up with all of this by myself, do you? No, the little gnome people in my head are awfully busy, and I have to say I don’t particularly mind.

So I will drink my first, and then my subsequent cups of coffee, look at my kind shoot other people on Xbox for a bit, snuggle the little guy, and then see if Stephen King’s kid is as good at comic books as I have heard that he is.

Take a second today, and just take a deep breath and realize that every second you think you can shrug off is retained in some way. You genuinely need to make sure that you enjoy every second of the good.

The Alley – Researching The Spot

The Alley

The library was abandoned and still when David got there. Not only had most of the classes finished for the day, but it was also Friday, and everyone had the little worlds that they needed to go into and live before classes started back up on Monday. He made his way back to the tables he usually used near the computers and made himself at home as David assumed he was going to be here until all hours of the night before eventually giving up on this spot, this “Alley” as a joke. He cracked his fingers and neck and sat down and got to work in front of the computer.

“It amazing.” After four hours, that was the only words David could manage at this titular moment in his life. He had searched through the school’s paper archive first as it was easy enough to access. He hadn’t been looking for three minutes before he found an article describing the Alley and the supposed powers it had over the people that saw it. It was written as a purely satirical piece, but there was almost a fear behind the words. For example:

“There can be no doubt that what was seen behind that restaurant that night was not supposed to be witnessed by anything of this world.”

Satirical, obviously, but there was something like steel behind the words, a warning could that dared not be said aloud lest something that was not supposed to hear it, listen in and find the speaker.

Then just a few minutes later, the town’s paper, a tad more severe on the whole, mentioned a “demonic feeling” behind the restaurant and advised the young not to go near it to be on the safe side.

Article after article. It was going back decades. Before it had been a restaurant, it had been a Five and Dime, a bar, an old feed stop for postal horses, and even an armory for the Crown.

This area, spot, whatever you wanted to call it, had been mentioned in every publication with two-hundred miles for the last five-hundred years, and that was just what David could physically find access too.

After five hours and three Red Bulls from the machines upfront, he sat back in his chair with page after page of evidence damning in its absolute certainty that there was something wrong with that particular spot in the Universe.

However, the most frightening thing was that almost all the articles, while explicitly warning the youth not to go near the place, gave near step-by-step instructions on what to do when you got there.

Excusing the vagaries in language over the centuries, the instructions were simple. First, all one needed to do was enter into that Alley with intent in your heart, then approach the spot on the wall, it is blackest one amongst the filth. Finally, you lay your hands on the wall with your desire in your mind, and you would get what it was that you desired.

David couldn’t believe it. There was no mumbo-jumbo, no “spell,” just intent. You needed to tell the spot what you wanted, and you would be given it.

He stood and stretched, the papers he had printed out scattering as he did so and making a general mess of everything. He looked down at one he had not seen before, it seemed to be from a story told by a clergyman around 1486 right here in the city of Speyer. The language had been translated serval times from what appeared Old German and Latin, and the English came across as awkwardly formal.

“Whosever in the times now or in the future approach the Devil’s spot, know then that at that moment the Hammer for you will begin to seek.