yesterday.. all my troubles seem so far away

Saturday.

Our hero gets out of bed at 11:30, still basking in the glow of being crowned Super Mega Awesome Poker Lord the night previous after winning 50k in a ten player tournament.

Fake money, of course. Otherwise I wouldn't be typing this.

So, yesterday was a date with Beverly whom I met on OkCupid and we were set to go to the zoo.

Only problem is, I am burnt out on online dating. I'm annoyed and frustrated at some of the girls that I've gone out with or have been messaged by. Look at who last messaged me, I mean.. Does she look like my type? You decide.

Do I really appeal to pudgy, East Indian women with huge boobs? Looking at her profile, I'm at a loss as to why she thinks we might hit things off. Girl, I'm white! Not to play the racial discrimination card, but really.. not only am I white, I'm skinnier than you and schooled in the decadent ways of Western civilization. There's no compatibility between us, save for the possibility that Lord Ganesha lives in my pants. Colour me ignorant on this, but I'd rather use the two hours of driving and having a drink/conversation to boost up a few levels in Call of Duty instead.

So, back to Beverly. She messaged me at a time when I was a hair away from closing my account. After a great date with Robyn the week before, where she later texted me saying "I don't think we would work out" and sending my notion of a "great date" out the window; I felt convinced that it was time to close shop.

But then, I did have this one girl left who seemed really eager to meet me. Despite my being brazen about how much the female species suck and that online dating favours guys with ripped abs and hare-brained profiles. For the girls, all they gotta do is lay back and watch the messages come in. Guys, however, have a much harder time of it given how fierce the competition is out there.

I told Beverly that I wasn't interested in dating anymore. And the only thing I might consider is "casual" which is a nice way of saying that I just want to be naked with someone one or two nights out of the week with zero responsibility and emotions involved. Of course, she wouldn't go for it, not that I was directly propositioning her, just sayin'.

She emailed me suggesting we do a trip to the zoo and I responded with agreeable indifference. I haven't been to the zoo in awhile, and if she wants to tag along, so be it. I didn't have any expectations going through my mind because I figured it was just going to be another disappointment.

How right I was.

Check this out:

(oops - she deleted her account. no picture available)

Anyways, Beverly looked decent. Despite her profile saying she's 5"11 and does Olympic Weightlifting. Again, my expectations were as low as they could go.

As I parked at the entrance, I texted her saying to watch out for a dorky looking guy with a hat and there she was.

Six feet tall and built like a fucking tank.

It wasn't even possible for me to cringe when I first saw her. I already had it in my head that this was going to be FAIL written in colourful flashing letters.

But it wasn't until I heard her talk that I realized why Beverly was having trouble finding a guy.

She IS a freakin guy! Her voice was something like Vin Diesel getting off a helium high and every time she spoke; people would turn to look at us. I'm sure most guys in this situation would turn around and leave, but hey, not me! After inspecting her for an Adam's apple (okay, she really wasn't a guy), I kind of had to laugh at how absurd this all was.

This was the perfect summation of my experience with dating online for the past few months.

Getting pictures of vaginas, boob shots, offers of casual sex, women who still live with their parents and don't own a vehicle, unattractive gals, ladies who aren't able to have any kind of a conversation beyond answering questions (those ones are brutal), promiscuous whores and so on.

In short, I don't know whether to laugh or cry at all this. I have spent half my life hoping to find the right girl and I tried so hard going out on as many different dates as possible with the most unlikeliest of people -- to see if anyone was worth pursuing.

I can tell you this. Not a single person was.

Just like Beverly.

We walked around a bit, shot the shit, had a few laughs and whatever. Despite knowing that I should feel rightfully embarrassed to be around this person, I didn't feel it in me to be disappointed. I was already prepared for that. There is no reason to be all high and mighty, thinking that I'm hot stuff while this poor girl is uncomfortable. No. I was as emotionally generous as I could be. This wasn't going to go anywhere, but that doesn't mean the whole experience should be awkward for the both of us.

As we chatted around her car afterwards, I was about to make my exit and jokingly pursed my lips at her.

Well, despite it being a mischievous gesture on my part, I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised that she planted a smooch on my face, which honestly felt quite nice to receive.

Leaving, I realized that it's always been my ego and expectations that has turned dating into such a chore. Thinking and hoping and wishing and praying for that "girl of my dreams" (tm) to somehow be around the next corner, just waiting for me to swoop her away in my scrawny arms. I mean, that's not what I should be doing. Putting pressure on myself..

Later on that evening, I felt for the first time -- a true platonic connection between myself and an attractive lady emerge. It occurred at Indigo, while I was browsing the graphic novel section and laughing at a compilation of romance comic books from the 50s.

The girl was short and cute with glasses and I simply asked what she thought about Scott Pilgrim. Because I genuinely can't figure out what's so great about the movie.

And then, a conversation emerged.

We talked about books, movies, the sexual appeal of the Twilight series, the Walking Dead, the viability of graphic novels as a medium vs straight-up novels, X-Men First Class, the Batman films, etc. It was this pleasant, twenty-minute exchange where I didn't have it in the back of my mind that I was talking just to get her number, or to ask her out.

I was living in the moment, enjoying the conversation and walking away once it tapered off after about twenty minutes or so. There was no, "want to go out sometime?" or attempts at steering the conversation towards a more flirtatious direction.

It was such a liberating experience. To be emotionally generous and not asking for anything in return.

But.. I do feel sad right now. I don't know what my future holds, despite Psychic Anna's suggestion that I stop focusing on relationships. Because..

I .. I really do want to be in love again. I want to make someone feel good. Someone I can come home to, who is waiting with open arms and a ready peck on the cheeks. Someone I can kick back and unload my thoughts on.. and to listen attentively to hers.

Someone I can curl up next to on a sofa and watch episode 7 of HBO's Game of Thrones with, rather than sitting by myself in bed alone, with a laptop resting on my stomach as I plan on doing after.

This isn't how I want to be spending my life.. but.. I can't whine about it. I tried my best as far as online dating goes. Maybe it's time to take a break from all this.

But.. I .. really think I deserve better.

And thoughts of Lauren mock me on a daily basis once more.

God.

I am such a punching bag.

getting there...

I hope I've gotten this figured out. Tonight, I would write! Damn the plot! Here is an excerpt of what I am experimenting with at the moment. It's quite an experiment, given that I've hit the 10,000 words milestone with this.

A bit of backstory.

I originally wrote this for a lark. Having a cool idea about a guy in prison who may not be the person that people think he is... I didn't take into consideration how it would all come together, but tonight -- after revisiting this particular piece; I tacked on an extra page and came up with this. Mind you, it's just the first draft and it's frickin' .. almost midnight when I really should be getting my lunch made for work tomorrow that I have to get up at 5am for.. but it's something I'm proud of accomplishing. Sure, it might not be anything special. But it's progress. And that means a lot to me.

Enjoy. (I'm skipping the previous dialogue portion just because it would be read out of context)

Jack walked over to the door, trying to peer around each corner, hoping for a glimpse of activity in a nearby cell.

The oft-talked about pool of blood was nowhere to be seen. Only the smell of industrial-strength bleach soured the air.

He could hear a rhythmic tapping sound echoing down the hall. It sounded like an orchestra of bored fingers drumming against a hard, wooden surface.

“Hey” Jack called out, in a tone of curiosity.

The tapping stopped.

He paused, but only the whir of overhead ventilation could be heard.

Someone yawned.

The bars he held onto, were cold to the touch. They resembled thorny vines, more so than the traditional ones he had envisioned a prison to equip. Everything was cold. The only saving grace was a gentle gust of ventilated air that caressed his face in brief intervals.

That chalkboard was in front of him again. But the symbols on it were different. Whatever was on there before, appeared to have been smudged strategically. Something that now resembled two swooping lines curving over an elliptical, almost diamond shape in the center looked suspiciously like the Eye of Horus. It was the symmetry of those two lines that served to awakened in him a memory of a long forgotten dream.

One that he would revisit momentarily.

Looking behind over his right shoulder, he could see Paul slumped against the wall with crossed arms, the rise and fall of his chest and the head that nodded fitfully each moment a spark of awareness would creep in.

Holding the bars, Jack squatted slowly to the floor. Feeling the metal thorns run down the crevice of his palms. Skipping over a horizontal metal truss that held it all together.

Feeling his posterior flatten itself out on the hard concrete, he took a deep breath.

And closed his eyes.

The memories came stealthily once more. The sandstorm appeared once again, but this time, the wind parted to reveal a partially completed face that filled his vision. A giant loomed before him with hollow sockets and a single ear turned inquisitively towards it’s left.

The Sphinx.

It rested on a block, brandishing the claws that long defined it’s feline characteristics. A monument that would endure for as long as perpetuity would allow, given the whims of nature’s predilection towards the creation of abrasive winds that would weather down it’s surface and erase all evidence of human artistry.

He stood, watching the hurried shadows of workers climb their way down from the neck of the statue wielding reed pails. There were men who surveyed the proceedings with disdainful looks and pointing towards a small, stone building which undoubtedly was used as safe haven or storage.

Despite the screech of wind, Jack could make out a sustained hum emanating from the direction of the Sphinx. It almost sounded like a generator engine, but having relived this dream before, he knew what it was.

In his mind’s eye, he experienced the walking motions of his avatar as it strode towards the source of the sound. A dark door made of polished, black granite and an iron hoop appeared to beckon and hasten his approach.

He clutched his hood, feeling the slapping of grains against the fabric as the howling of the wind and the hum intermingled to create a curious energy that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Before him, to the left and right of this door, were two guards. Each wore a tiara shaped like two snakes joined at the tail, with mouths wide open facing each other. Gleaming, green stones of jade were placed in their eyes, undaunted by the muted colors of the sand that swirled amist their countenances.

The words that greeted him were difficult to pronounce, yet oddly familiar. Both heads lowered as each hand grasped the hoop of each half of the door, and pulled it open.

Light bathed him from the chin down, as Jack could see a lamp burning without the aid of fuel. A flame that did not appear to flicker. Almost as if it were powered by electricity. The humming was much more insistent, and he could hear the door behind him close with a hollow echo.

A stone staircase winded itself down. He could not see anything more than seven steps ahead as each measured decent enunciated the hums until they resembled a rhythmic chanting.

A beetle watched him from it’s vantage point near the lantern. The antenna on it’s head swaying in greeting once he made his way past.

Several minutes of decension later, a stone wall revealed itself. Without thinking, Jack inserted two fingers of both hands into a groove cut along the side, and pulled.

With sullen, creaking protest; the door yielded to his hand and opened neatly into a wide, gaping chamber.

===

That's not too bad for an off-the-cuff, stab-in-the-dark, spray and pray first effort isn't it? I'm pretty good with editing, so there's a fair amount of optimism involved when I say that this kind of stuff will kick ASS. But maybe that's just me.

I plan to follow that bit up with a little thing called "The Hall of Records". It's a legend that tunnels beneath the Sphinx hold access to this mythical Hall of Records which purport to contain the entire history and achievements of a possibly extraterrestrial race. Obviously I'll be putting my own spin on this idea.

tangential overdrive

Once in awhile I like to visit the far corners of the internet and peek into the windows of the fringe.

In this particular case, I hit up AboveTopSecret.com, a website devoted to the pursuit of Truth and rich with topics ranging from the validity of Obama’s birth certificate, to the latest UFO sightings and recordings of strange sounds which may or may not be emanating from the bottom of Hell itself (it sounded like seismic activity to me).

But rather than going over the latest Jersey Devil sighting, I explored a less controversial topic entitled “The Enlightened Ego: Solving The Problem of Awakening” which dealt with the spiritual roadblock that usually emerges when a person who actively solicits enlightenment, comes face to face with an ego that bills itself as superior to everyone else merely for achieving some measure of insight into the human condition.

What’s fascinating to me is the entire process of seeking The Truth, which I can’t help but capitilize and fight the urge to insert a TM in enclosed parenthesis after.

There is a huge market, stretching back to the dawn of time that deals with this pursuit. However, due to to the experiences I have had in life, I am convinced at this point that the very seeking of enlightenment is an egotistical and ultimately fruitless endeavor.

If reading hundreds of self-help books, religious documentation and implementing various means of finding The Truth has taught me anything, it’s this.

There are no words ever written that will fully reveal what The Truth really is. Simply because, it evades a precise definition.

Consider how Dictionary.com defines the word truth, for instance.

1.

the true or actual state of a matter: He tried to find out the truth.

2.

conformity with fact or reality; verity: the truth of a statement.

3.

a verified or indisputable fact, proposition, principle, or the like: mathematical truths.

Let’s start with number one. The true or actual state of a matter.

What does actual state, mean? Indisputable? We can agree a rock is solid and hard to the touch, but is that really The Truth as we know it? Or as we perceive it? There is a very important distinction to be made there. Who’s to say that reality is a subjective experience and that our brains are projecting forth tactile feedback onto what may simply be holograms created by six extraterrestrials who have created a computer program called “Earth” populated by beings who consider themselves self-aware and of free will yet are in actuality, bots that act in a predictable, self-serving fashion?

I do admit, such a proposition would be a silly one to earnestly believe in, but one can gather up “evidence” to support such a bold accusation if so inclined. Reality is what you make it.

Conformity with fact or reality. Fact: We cannot prove anything with any degree of certainty in this world. Everything is taken on faith, even science. In fact, had it not been for faith, science and humanity would largely cease to exist. Just because something is measurable, repeatable and is accepted in droves -- does not necessarily means it conforms with facts or reality. Not even the fact that I presented above with could be considered a "fact" . It is a line of questioning that serves to inspire intellectual discourse within one self. Nothing more.

Number three lists verification and being indisputable as components of Truth. This too, is an entirely subjective judgement.

With all of the above in mind, would it not be safe to say that given the resources we have available and the vastness of the universe; that pursuit of the Truth is an ultimately fruitless endeavour? Finding The Truth implies achieving an understanding that transcends the need to question and wonder about. However, in the context of seeking enlightenment, it is only a construct of the ego to seek out a permanent, unchangeable notion that will shape one’s individual makeup in ways that an ego perceives as enlightenment.

This is ironic and to apply an analogy to better digest the above point with, picture if you will a man driving a car loaded up with fuel that can last for the lifetime of the engine. The man, in the spirit of progress, drives his car towards a destination that is rumored to contain an immensity of riches beyond imagination. He has a map, purchased or gained from an individual who claims to have arrived at this particular destination.

However, the man drives for hours, days, weeks, months and years. His curiosity wanes over this period and at some point, the search is abandoned in favour of something more appealing and realisticly attaintable.

This, is the search for enlightenment. No matter how much one perseveres, physical death is the only certainty we have.

What I found interesting about the particular topic being discussed at AboveTopSecret, is that ego inevitably clashes with itself when looking for answers. Motives are called into question, and despite benevolent intentions, humility often degrades itself in the process.

Which is what enlightenment is all about, I suppose. The attainment of humility and understanding of one’s place in the world. Yet, how would it be possible to become enlightened and not feel proud or honored by it? Should absolute power corrupt absolutely, does this not also apply to those who claim to have discovered what the meaning of living is?

I enjoy thinking about this kind of stuff, and I realize that in order to be fully awakened, contentment and self-satisfaction are crucial components. One must be happy with who and what they are and respect the world around them.

The Truth IS out there, but it cannot be found just by looking for it. And even if one should think that they’ve attained it, I can assure you that anyone who makes such claims can safely be ignored because they likely have not achieved enlightenment at all.

The wise man is the one who knows nothing, and accepts it gladly.

Or perhaps true wisdom is only the honest expression of one's true desires.

But don’t take my word for it.

Find out for yourself..

real life is more interesting than this

My blog ain't being updated. Well, not as much as I'd like anyways. There just wasn't much to blog about despite some of the stuff that's been happening.

So I woke up this morning with a dream about some white bread, cherubic looking twenty-something year old and it was set in the 1950s. The guy was backstage with what looked like an uncool version of what's supposed to be a guitar; and then he gets up on stage in front of an audience of about thirty people all dressed as he was -- in white, dressy shirts, black slacks and befuddled expressions of amusement on their faces.

He shuffles up, starts playing his guitar in the most boring, uninteresting way possible and on his right, is the "presenter" who stands watching his every move. Turns out the presenter was marketing a new gimmick, and this performance was a demonstration of it.

After a few moments of playing the guitar, the guy suddenly rams it into his microphone and starts hammering away. Everyone in the audience looked horrified at the spectacle taking place -- remember, this was in the 50s, so smashing your guitar is something that hasn't been done at that point.

The presenter dutifully explained the purpose of it and the audience applauds. The "hook" being the guitar smashing as they were all players in the music industry and were looking for the next (or in this case -- the first) Jimi Hendrix.

Then i woke up. And thought about what my subconscious was trying to tell me. The words that floated about in my mind were: "Manufactured Image". I've no idea how it relates to my world view, other than thinking of artists like Kurt Cobain, Lady Gaga, Marilyn Manson and Alice Cooper; artists who've all manufactured their personas. (Yes, even Cobain -- go read one of his biographies).

So.. is my mind telling me to re-invent myself? Or is it simply reminding me that perception eclipses the truth? It's one or the other I'm sure.. just not sure which. After my date with Robyn last weekend, I think this particular vision served as an acknowledgement towards the importance of keeping true to myself and not putting on a show of extravagance in order to impress.

Keepin' it real, is the lesson gleaned from all this. And from what I went through with Lauren -- holy shit do I need to get this tattoo'd onto my forehead.

It's that important.

And god damn it. I still fucking miss her. Why can't she grow up?

Better yet -- WHEN will she grow up?

And will I want her then?

wake-up call, the threequel?

Oh wow. Today I had a big surprise waiting for me at work. I was one of the lucky guys, well, technically the only lucky guy; who spent the day in laydown. Now, this is pretty much what passes for a demotion at my job. You can't get any lower than being a scrub handling orders for material, but whatevahs, I still get paid the same and besides there wasn't much else to do anyways.

But, the shock came to me when Chris and I were looking over the order sheets, the first item on the very top was...

15x3. The size that I thought didn't exist. The size that I freakin' dreamed about just three days ago.

I mean.. holy shit. This isn't the first example of syncronicity, as I've posted before regarding the married friend of mine. But wow.. WOW. After I saw that, I had to tell Chris about my dream and he laughed his ass off. It was such a bizarre coincidence that I can't figure out what to make of it.

So there you have it. Dreams can be prophetic. Even in small, absurd, inconsequential ways.

15x3. Sheesh. It does exist.

wake-up call redux

It’s 2:39am and after falling asleep an hour ago, I woke to a message.

In my dreams, there was a young woman -- perhaps 16, holding a disfigured, bawling baby. The lady seemed confused about what to do with the child and I felt a sense of concern for it’s well-being and suspected abuse.

Then, the child .. changes, the more I interact with it. It ages and matures into a being I can intelligently talk to. This would have been a miracle, had the “baby” not described what happened. That she “willed” herself to assume her present form. As I, and the young mother express our disbeliefs, it later becomes known that this child is special and has the ability to “will” change. The room was littered with toys (mostly from the 80s) that appeared out of thin-air; created by her imagination.

She asked me to look into her eyes, and I was mesmerized by their shifting colours and shapes. After about a minute of this, I was then asked to look into a mirror -- for what purpose, I could not ascertain. But there was something important about my doing so and I had the sense that I was being tested. The child reacted with surprise while I was staring at myself. She excitedly jabbered something to her mother about my being special (if I’m recalling correctly), or “the one”. Something along those lines.

The parallel’s between this and Lauren, are painfully obvious. Though the mother in question did not resemble my ex at all.

Another fragment I’m remembering had to do with my being underground and able to exit through a drainage ditch to the world outside. There, I’m confronted by piping of the sort that I insulate on a daily basis. Before me lay a grassy, serene world with these pipes blighting the horizon and I remember thinking, “was this worth it?” or maybe, “I did it all for this?”. There was some resentment about those pipes (my job insulating) that I don’t remember enough of the details.

As I’m standing here, looking at these pipes; small parachutes drop from the sky. They are each attached to palm-sized bombs that resembled miniature imitations of Fat Man -- the infamous nuclear bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima. I watched each of those small parachutes land to the ground and seemingly become absorbed by it. They did not detonate and I was able to hold one momentarily as I caught it from the sky. They were all spaced apart at distances no less than 15 feet and so, there were thousands of these landing as far as I could see.

While I’m left wondering why they weren’t detonating, I became aware of something happening. A fire in the distant horizon, and it appeared to be coming towards me at an alarming rate. Perhaps these bombs each detonated with a delay and I had the queer suspicion that this was the end of the world I was witnessing.

I quickly ran to the drain tunnel and made my way back underground. Here, things were well-lit and I was soon met by a stranger whom I asked “are you security?” and he responded with a laugh, saying no. He wasn’t. Soon after, a man approached and asked my name. I then was escorted to an office and saw “David” being scratched off of a notepad once my identity was confirmed.

Intrigued at this, I fished around for clues as to who was looking for me and what happened. It appears that the outside world had no interest to these folks, and being underground had it’s own group of people living a sheltered life. However, the man would not offer me any other information except that there was some “15x3” (a size that doesn’t exist at my job) that needed to be done someplace. Apparently, I was an employee and was expected to insulate.

Then.. I woke up, letting the thoughts sink in and anchoring these fragments into my immediate awareness so I could type them onto my laptop before I forget what I dreamed about.

It just seemed important that I write all this down. The first part of the dream really did feel like a reference to Lauren and her daughter Sophia and I feel that maybe -- it’s either wish-fulfilment/prophecy/remote communication or an imaginative commentary on my present situation -- I was expected or would have been, a good father/mentor figure for this child. I was spurred briefly to re-establish communication with Lauren in an almost mild panic.. that’s how convincing this metaphor / parallel was.

The 2nd part of the dream, I’m guessing to mean that the world will come to an end should I continue with what I do for a living. Perhaps “the world” is more “my world” or my life. In that context, it makes much more sense. And the underground part of it is safe haven from the end? I don’t think so, because as I was looking at the pipe in the dream -- I remember feeling sad that insulating somehow caused it to happen. That I ended “my” or “the” world. Maybe it alludes to a perceived destruction of self potential.

Perhaps it all served as a warning.

It’s interesting to think about. Back to sleep I go.

no fate but what we make

Today for the first time ever, I consulted with a spiritual intermediary. A person chanelling wisdom from realms uncharted by man.

Yes, I am speaking of a psychic. Not just any psychic, but a FLEA MARKET psychic. Those ones are particularly sensitive to the vibirational frequency of chakras mingling about looking at items that even Value Village would balk at putting up for sale.

It all started with me carrying a nice, warm cup of coffee past a stall with newspaper articles pasted all around it. As I glanced about, noticing it was empty -- I took a look at some of the headlines. Psychic helps Crimestoppers, psychic fire-walks and as I was perusing one in particular about Egypt, a lady came from behind and said, "You should try her. She's good."

Now, it took me a few seconds to register that this was the psychic. Psychic Ana to be exact, who engaged me immediately by rattling off her credentials. Over 30 years experience, success at predicting a lottery winner, helped solve crime, judges/lawyers lined up to see her, etc. etc.

I tried taking all this with a grain of salt, but realized that a grain wouldn't be enough. I'd need the whole damned shaker to swallow down some of the testimonials she was giving me.

But, I was bored and she seemed intriguing so I sat down for a session. Twenty-five bucks. At first I considered pulling the old "I only have 20, is that okay?" trick of negotiating at a flea market; but thought against it.

As I sat across from her, expecting a crystal ball or tarot cards, I was surprised to see runestones dropped on the table. First time I've seen anyone use those.

As Psychic Ana surveyed the blocks, I held onto my poker face, betraying no emotion so that I could better nullify any cold readings that she may be compelled to give. The first thing that came out, was that she sensed insecurity within me. And that whenever I manage to get past that, I "shine". This is something I can agree with, I'm selectively social and I think this might apply to any introvert. Not a bad assessment, but nothing revelatory.

Next up, she asked me what I did for a living. My immediate thought was, "shouldn't you know that already" but sadly, it slipped through my mouth anyways. Good thing it was delivered with a smile and a quick answer before she could feel insulted by my skepticism.

Once I told her I was in construction, she then asked what I'm passionate about. Again, wouldn't a psychic have some guesses about that? So, I paused briefly and pretended like I had a casual interest in writing. Hell if I was going to let my eyes light up and say, "I lovvvvveeee to write! I'm writing a book!" she'd probably tell me I was going to be the next Stephen King.

Flipping the stones around, she looked up at me with a smile and said that in two years I'd become very successful with writing as a career. I expressed immediate doubt about that, though I badly desire to be successful with getting a book published -- so I nodded attentively, pretending that I've only a marginal interest in the idea.

This was around where she raised her finger in the air and traced out a line from left to right, saying that she sensed me to be on the same "level" as Stephen King. I almost blurted out laughing, but politely responded with a restrained look of amusement.

"He's had quite a career. Over fifty books." I answered.

She again traced that line out in the air and said, "I don't know anything about Stephen King, I've never read his books, but I sense you are on the same level as Stephen King."

This was interesting to me, because while I do admire SK's style of writing; I can't say that the horror genre is what I'm most interested in exploring with my work. Had she mentioned a more obscure author, I may have been inclined to consider the comparison, but Stephen King? Come on. At least she didn't say Proust, or Hemingway.

Next up was the relationship portion, which to me is the most important. I deeply desire to find the right person to spend the rest of my life with and at one point, several weeks ago -- I considered putting my writing on hold in order to focus on the search. So, my ears perked up at this moment.

She then asked, "are you in a relationship right now?" and I'm like.. what the hell.. shouldn't she know this? But I responded that yes I was involved with someone whom I met last weekend (Ashley). She then said, "I really like this girl".

Immediately after those words, I felt it was all b.s. I don't think Ashley and I have a snowball's chance in hell of getting into anything long-term. She is far from my type and I am none too happy about playing the father figure to someone much younger than I am. As friends, sure, we might work out -- but lovers? husband and wife? Heck no.

I couldn't resist pointing all this out. Saying that I wanted someone on equal terms who can challenge and bring out the best of me. Someone that I wouldn't have to mentor, or coddle. Someone inspiring. Affectionate. Loving. Complementary.

Of course, this rattled Psychic Ana a little and she reiterated saying, "well, I kinda like this girl" .. the "kinda" pretty much did her in at that point. I wonder what would have happened had I told her I was a flaming homosexual and hated women. I'd loved to see her reaction.

Then she said I would be married within five years with a child. "I see you with a ring on your finger and a child." To which I admit, is a realistic enough prediction given that there's five years ahead of me.

The Q&A came after that. I asked where should I start with my book, and while she didn't tell me anything specific enough to work off of -- she did mention that I am at my best when I lose myself in my work. Hmmph. Okay.

When I said I wanted to prioritize a relationship over writing, she immediately said for me to focus on writing instead. Forget the relationship. That kind of sucked but maybe she has a point. Being focused on a relationship diverts energy that could be used on writing, and perhaps I need to adopt a more casual attitude towards dating instead of checking messages on three different dating websites every ten minutes :P

So, ultimately it came down to "good things will happen in two years with your writing. stay focused on that. you'll be married with a child within five and you're comparable to Stephen King."

She also predicted a big move in the next couple of years. Again, it's a good possibility.

As I handed over a fifty, feeling uncomfortable and slightly cheated -- she placed a hundred dollar bill in front of me. Huh. That's some change. I pointed it out and she quickly apologized. Oh well.

My dear readers, mark this date. Two years until the book and five for marriage. Ana made me promise to see her once I get the book published and give her an autographed copy.

If that doesn't pan out, I'll be sure to visit her anyways and ask if my hand smells like chloroform.

Thank you Psychic Ana. I hope you're right about all this. Or some of it anyways.

wake up call

It's strange how dreams work sometimes. There has been instances of premonition, wish fulfilment fantasies and subconscious mirroring of one's psyche through this medium.

But, can dreams also serve as a telepathic link between two people?

A few weeks ago, I had awakened with an especially vivid one. It involved a female friend of mine who is married and in it, we were shopping together at some giant megastore that appeared to have everything. The primary objective was for me to have her try "awesome" deep dish pizza that this place supposedly sells. In the dream, I was completely nude and told curious passerby that somebody stole my clothes, "don't worry about it" I reassured them. Later on, we ended up having a surprise dinner party together involving some of my relatives and her husband also was there -- holding a ring with a brush on the end of it with the implication that he used it to groom his pubes.

Weird, huh? What gets even weirder is that I haven't seen this married friend of mine in a couple of years -- there continues to exist, some bad blood between her husband and I. But when I woke up with this dream fresh in my mind -- it felt like I had to contact her for some reason. Something was nagging me and I thought maybe, it was her birthday?

So, I wrote her an email for the first time in half a year, and behold! She did indeed have her birthday a few days ago. And what's even stranger, is that she had a dream about me last night also, which she didn't want to go into details about.

At the end of her email, she then said she had to go eat some leftover pizza. Was it deep-dish? I hadn't asked about that :P

Given the circumstances of how infrequently we talk to each other and how we both suddenly had a dream involving the two of us; I was curious to know if there can exist a connection between people while they sleep. Maybe dreaming is like an open playground for one's mind to invite others to participate in? I don't think it's entirely a far fetched idea.

The reason I am inspired to write this post today, is that I had another dream last evening. In it, this friend of mine struck up a conversation about wanting to do things on her own, such as going on a trip someplace. This was taking place on my bed, we were both fully clothed and she had a tight, white v-neck shirt on. Then she crouches towards me and mentions wanting to get breast implants. I'm keeping this calm, unaffected demeanour and indicated her chest with a nod of my chin.

"what's wrong with those?"

Then she sidles her face closer to me, whispering all the while and our lips meet. We kiss, no tongue and that's when I woke up.

I'm like FUUUUUUU!!! It was a powerful moment but it also felt like a very defining one for me to have. Because, I had the sense of holding back. She was married after all -- and there was a sneaking suspicion, that perhaps on some "telepathic" level, that she wanted us to have sex through this dream.

Which I refused, on the grounds that she is married. I wouldn't allow her to even subconsciously cheat on her husband, as lame as that sounds.

So now, with these two revelations out of the way -- I'm considering the idea of sending her an email asking if she dreamed of anything last night. There's a chance she's already forgotten whatever it was, and there's a chance that my telepathy theory is incorrect.

But there's also a chance, that she dreamed of me and that is something I'm keenly interested in finding out.

Except.. sending her an email like that, is probably going to have her question my sanity if I'm off the mark with it. Well, *makes swishing sound* off it goes, regardless.

I've got a date with a gal named Ashley tonight for us to watch Insidious. Hopefully that goes better than it did with Deanna last weekend -- while we had chemistry, she was way too mature for my tastes. Ashley is ten years younger than her.

The search continues.

with a wave of my hand

Good writing is born of heart, not intellect. It is under appreciated and overlooked. It is at it’s most compelling when in service of truthful expression rather than outright deception. Simplicity is key, as words do not mix well when a monstrous, self-serving ego desires to reflect the author’s education and knowledge at the expense of the reader’s ability to comprehend esoteric words. Like esoteric for example.

Esoteric is defined as “understood by or meant for the select few.” Why should a novel, or story be written in a style that alienates readers who may not have had the time or inclination to acquire a formidable grasp of the English language?

There is no reason to present your story in a way that only a specific audience can hope to understand and appreciate. There is no reason why an author could not substitute esoteric for cryptic by way of example. What constitutes effective story-telling is the ability to discern it’s relevant parts and allow only that to blossom in the reader’s mind.

In my opinion, many highly paid writers and theologians are guilty of embellishment or spectacle when there is no need for either.

Spectacle can certainly arouse interest, yet it is often arrived at by treacherous means. Consider the television show Lost if you wish to observe deliberate affront in action. The resolution it eventually provides comes at the admission of betrayal once it is realized that there are no answers to the questions that have assaulted each viewer. It is a mindless, frustrating ordeal rather than a slow illumination in search of possibility. It leaves a sour taste in one’s mouth as it shyly shrugs it’s shoulders with palms facing outward and a wry grin on it’s face.

For me, the most compelling stories are the ones that posit a question with the intention of answering it. As Stephen King once remarked, there is an unspoken contract of honesty and trustthat exists between an author and his audience. It is of paramount importance that this agreement be honored, if one wishes to accomplish anything by their work.

With this being said, I have grown to appreciate good writing. Honest writing. Stories that respect their audience and attempt to answer or hint at solutions to universal issues such as poverty, crime, the fallibility of mankind, the existence of God, the corruption of wealth, the fragility of Government, the desecration of nature. Good writing can tackle philosophical dilemmas and provide us with a means to fully understand and sympathize with the human condition.

It can change people’s lives.

And by God, I hope I find it within myself to contribute writing of substance that will be welcomed for the honest truth it attempts to reveal.

To this, I promise myself.

And you.

The Goblin Under My Bed

There once was a Goblin living under a bed

It had a big green, hairy, misshaped head

One sunny day, the Goblin became quite bored.

He peeked out from the bed, opened his mouth and roared

The little boy who was reading high up above

took flight, like a scared feathery dove.

He ran downstairs, with a hurried stride

looking both ways, for a place to hide

he found a closet, and closed the door

but still he could hear, the Goblin roar

minutes passed, and hours went by

he peeked under the door, and smelled a delicious pie

as the little boy left the closet, turning the knob

he picked up a shoe, that he was readying to lob

What’s this, the little boy asked, with a frightened cry

seeing the scary old goblin, wearing an apron and tie

“come in come in” it sang out loud

it removed it's oven mitts, and looked very proud

the little boy stared, his eyes big and blue

hearing the Goblin shriek, saying “this is for you!”

“don’t be scared," it said, "this is not the end”

“All I really wanted, was for us to be friends!”

so together they sat, eating pie

best friends they would be, by and by.

===

Someday I'll make a fortune as a writer of children's books.

I come from the future

It's been a while since I last posted, and it seemed like the reason for it was a lack of interest in stringing together my thoughts and posting them up on the blog.

I'm not sure why that is. I know I enjoy sharing such details, because it benefits me in different ways; it just seems almost.. pointless. Like a job that I'm not getting paid enough to do.

What bothers me most, is that I yearn to write for a living and tucking my head in the sand whenever anything noteworthy happens just screams of laziness to me. It's not to say that I've stopped writing altogether, but I have these periods where inspiration is desperately needed. I need to feel the fire of it, spurred along by an all-consuming passion where words drip from my fingers like a gushing waterfall.

But lately, it seems more like a clogged toilet in the amount that I've been producing. A paragraph here, an idea change there.. it seems like my book will take forever to get done.

What I'm trying to figure out right now, is the right approach. According to Stephen King's book "On Writing", he encourages the writer to avoid plotting out their stories and going with the flow. That's an interesting perspective and it does much to help anyone who feels hesitant with writing; but it seems to be the wrong tack for me to take.

The reason being, is that I keep going off the rails. What may start off as a cool idea, can quickly evolve into something else altogether. As a result, tone and cohesion suffers in the midst of my faltering attention to details.

So, I'm toying with the idea to perhaps try and explore a more methodical route when it comes to writing fiction. I need to settle on the type of narrative (first person, second, third - past tense/present, etc), decide on how character development will take place by constructing an arc that I can hang my words like ornaments upon. I'd also need to figure out if I should try writing chapter by chapter and to fit them with climaxes and whatnot.

My book at the moment, doesn't lend itself well to categorization and I am left wondering if I should "commercialize" it for mainstream readers; or to just do my own thing. It's tricky to decide when you have chapters that are 9,000+ words long and there are IM conversations scattered throughout.

It's really not easy being a writer. Especially when it comes to attempting something of 70,000 words or more -- which I already do have, but not in a format that I consider to be worthy of publication.

The onus is on me, with this one. Perhaps I should abandon the book for now until I can hone my skills enough to attempt anything more ambitious beyond short stories. Which, I don't think I would mind because a short story is so much fun to write, with so little pressure involved that maybe I would need to look at a full-length novel as a series of short stories with the same character.

Hmm. We'll see. One thing that's for certain however, is that I refuse to give up on my dreams.

It's all I have left.

another one down

Happy 2011! One more year to go before the end of the world, according to those adorable Mayans.

Looking back, I'm compelled to write out the things I've learned and done in 2010. It was a hell of a year as far as personal development and spiritual / emotional evolution goes.

I've dated lots. Deanna in December, Jessica in January, Andrea in February, Lauren in March which lasted for a while.. Kim, Casey, Niki, Kristen, Lisa...

Wow.. nine. NINE. That is huge. I've never in my life dated this much before and it's been quite an eyeopener as I'm educated in certain qualities that I haven't been exposed to as much in years previous.

It's made me realize just exactly what I'm looking for in the ideal mate I hope to find someday. Each girl I've dated gave me something to take away with me that will be used at some point in the future towards my goals and appraisial of other potential suitors.

Deanna taught me how lame one-night stands can be. Jessica made me want someone as nice as she was but a little more interesting to talk to.. she also gave my ego a boost when we broke up by saying, "You'll find someone. You won't have a problem at all.", Andrea showed me how non-judgemental I can be and that I'm willing to give any person a shot. She also gave me the chance to decide between meaningless sex and the courage of my convictions.

Lauren.. damn. Well, I've written enough about her already. She's.. special. But she is also emotionally immature and it wouldn't have worked out between us anyways. I'm thankful for having had the time I did with her and her daughter Sophia. I realize the depths of my desperation and the extent of my sorrow in the time we were together. She was and possibly still is -- the type of gal I would like to settle down with someday. Almost.

Lisa taught me that intellectual and emotional harmony does not necessitate or supersede attraction. As did Kristen and Casey. Chemistry is so important.

Kim.. Kim is a big one to analyze.. While our relationship is ongoing, she did teach me that incredible sex can be had without any feelings being involved. That loving myself is the ultimate aphrodisiac. She reaffirmed my masculinity and broke down walls when it came to having sex without love. She's taught me that no matter how good the sex is, it still matters what kind of a person you are and how you two get along outside of intimacy. She's made me realize how shameful I feel about meaningless sex and after tonight -- I'm not sure I would want to continue being with her. She wants more than what I am willing to offer.

As for the other girls, I've understood that not every date results in a successful conquest. That I'm my own worst enemy sometimes and that I can put too much pressure on myself and the other person. That I need to figure out how to go with the flow and not come in with unreasonably lofty expectations.

And for the rest of what I've achieved and done this year; they've been necessary in bringing about a broader and clarified perspective of who I am and where I'm going in life.

Writing took a big jump forward, as I poured a lot of thought into some of the blog posts on here as well as writing fiction more seriously. I'm filled with renewed hope at the talents I possess -- and must use, if I wish to somehow make a career of it.

Another thing I learned this year, was how important it is to be with the right person so that I operate at my fullest potential. Lauren brought out the best in me on an emotional level (she also brought out the worst of it). Kim drew out the best when it comes to sex.. So there's been some appreciated epiphanies and moments of self-discovery for which I am thankful for. Every little thing has only made me more aware, more strong and I'm blessed for the opportunities I was given.

As a friend once written me, "sex cannot compete with dependable love".

It is so true. Sex is not everything. It can be used for good or evil. To conceal, heal, bond, reveal.. it is something that must be used in service of a noble purpose. Not just to distract from how lonesome a soul might feel. Sex can only go so far.

Things may not always work out when it comes to pursuing our dreams.. but in the end, it's the intention, not the achievement that defines us. As long as I move forward with my head held high and my heart in the right place. Learning from the mistakes I've made... I can do no wrong. I'll have nothing to apologize for.

It's how we grow. And it's so crucial to stay true to ourselves despite some of the challenges we may come across.

And that's the most important lesson I've learned this year.

Be true to yourself.

Never give up hope.

Never apologize for who you are, what you want and keep your mind and heart open as often as possible.

Believe in the goodness that you carry within.

And keep moving forward.

Until you get to where you want to be.

the decimation of the divine

We live in jaded times. This modern-era has precipitated the advent of self-indulgence and reckless consumption.

These are not new words. They are in the back of everyone’s mind. They are entrenched deeply in our souls. They are the source of our ills.

To preach the virtue of self-reliance is to accept dissonance. It entails a severing of the connection that exists between ourselves and the world around us. It neuters the mystical and embraces a cold, almost psychopathic disregard towards those that exist outside of our immediate assessment as to their usefulness.

We take humanity for granted, and why not? We have our problems, “they” have theirs. It is always “us” and “they” never “our”.

Africa is proof of that. As is Pakistan. Afghanistan. Iraq. China. Anyplace situated outside of the immediate influence of the North American way of living; we simply cannot relate to lives so dissimilar to our own.

“They” have their own problems to deal with.

If we were to frog-march the usual suspects up to our collective scrutinty, there emerges a criminal so conviving, so implacable and so improbable that we do not notice it’s presence.

Polarization. The tendency to assess situations through only two sets of lenses. Good and bad. Cruel and compassionate. Hot and cold. Democrat and Republican. Rich and poor. Wrong and right. Living or dead.

Decades ago, pre-martial sex was considered largely to be a sin. We do not think such things nowadays. In fact -- given our capacity for selfishness, we have socially-conditioned promiscuity as acceptable and placed it reverently upon our altars of self worship.

Laws are also meant to be broken. Prohibition should have served as an effective a cautionary tale as any; yet we continue forth, enforcing rules and regulations that are often perceived as an inconvenience that we must accept without question. Our judgement is constrained by an arbitrary boundary dictated by bureaucracy largely steered about by corporations and it's lobbyists.

Polarization is a form of situational alchemy. We grab onto an unfamiliar concept and weigh it’s values against either extreme. If it cannot be categorized as easily as we wish, we can always count on the ego to tip the scales in favour of either direction without due consideration on our part.

This is how fundamentalists are born. There is no gray in a world that demands either black or white. It is what fuels the engine of activism. It perpetuates racial and gender discrimination. It produces "terrorists". An attack on the World Trade Center that caused the death of a few thousand pale in comparison to the floods of Indonesia or the earthquakes in Haiti that has resulted in far more causalities. Yet, our empathy does not extend nearly as well towards a group of inferior beings whose lives we aren't emotionally invested in.

Do you remember where you were on the day that 230,000 Haitians perished? How about 9/11?

My point is, we are fucked. Our sense of empathy needs a kick in the ass if we expect to progress as a speices, much less a "civilization".

We have nowhere else to go but down, if the world continue as it does. Feeding the gluttonous appetite of North Americans upon the backs of less fortunate third-world citizens. Affording more gravitas towards spectacle than reality. Embracing a collective delusion unique only to the Western hemisphere, in which we struggle to hold up the shaky foundation of the American Dream, enlisting and exploiting the aid of those who have little choice but to consent to piss-poor wages and a shocking amount of disrespect.

The value of life is relative to the polarized mind. If it does not shock or stun us -- we simply will not care.

Such is the life of the Ostrich burying it's nose in the sand.

Get your Christmas shopping done yet?

Poseidon's Revenge

Something I came up with on the fly. I hadn't bothered to spell-check or edit anything. Yeah, I know it's sloppy but I loved doing it. Enjoy.

===

He stood still. Hands bound in a metal forged from the flames of Mt. Vesuvius. Looking up, he could see the ripple of the sky, a shining sun danced above, it’s rays darting like jagged swords into his eyes inflicting a pain that appeared to mock and yet -- beckon him to arise from his watery hell.

Yet he could not. Both his wrists and ankles fixed him firmly to the ocean floor and all he could do was to stare ahead forlornly. Contemplating the insanity that pervaded his being, swirling inches from his skin as he stood albeit slightly hunched to endure the madness that he found himself corrupted by.

The ocean current swirled gently against his body, a hurried embrace for which he dearly enjoyed. He did not relish the days when his lover’s fingers swelled into a fist that relentlessly pounded him with unapologetic fury. There were times when his mouth opened wide in a noiseless scream, unable to force anything but angry bubbles that darted wildly to the surface.

For a God as he, such impotence of action was a daring blow to the monstrous ego he once harboured. He had felt over the centuries, the gradual explosion and contraction of his consciousness. Folding onto itself until he was left with nothing more than a speck intent on eventual redemption.

For that day shall surely come, he thought. Floating inches off the sand that grated the soles of his bare feet. He recalled the day of incarceration, summoning forth memories strengthened by countless amounts of recollection.

They called him The Lamb. It was he who ordered the enslavement of not just himself, but others like him. By who’s authority, he has yet to acknowledge and subject himself towards. The Lamb claimed jurisdiction of the sea, or more accurately -- conquered these waters using a form of magic that appeared incomprehensible -- almost impossible for one such as he to reckon and properly shore up defences against.

As he stood with his army of ocean dwellers to his rear -- the Christian God looked upon him with a measure of pity that infuriated him. How dare this interloper stand against him with such disrespect.

The memories threatened to engulf him, as they have many times before. Infecting each cell of his body with a terrible resentment and a futile desire to break free from the bonds that he reluctantly accepted.

Over the centuries, he had tested these chains. Hoping that with time, a sharp jerk would undo at least one link. Yet this did not happen. Would not happen. Until the day of reckoning emerged.

So he stood in his watery prison. Eyes towards the surface, feeling the hair on his head reach towards the sky, swaying with the current. All he could do was watch.

And squeeze out a salty tear that blended in with the surroundings.

Had he been utterly and completely alone, he may have given in to the occasional urge to communicate his servitude to the being that had conquered him. Yet, he was not alone. He still had his mind. His pride. His strength of will.

And his friends. Ancestors of a time long past who would sometimes swim by and share stories of surface dwellers, ships, migration patterns. Some have even paused to mock and deride the predicament that he was in. These worms were given a sneer and a narrowing of hateful eyes to which they fearfully absconded from.

He longed for the dolphins. They were good company and have passed down the knowledge of his reign to their pods. The whales also were a kind and respectful lot. Many creatures choose to avoid him altogether, yet these two did not.

About once every second full moon, he would be paid a visit by the Kraken. A monstrosity that remained as ageless as he. A proud and devoted servant to his cause.

The Kraken was about sixty feet long, with short stubby legs and a multitude of foot-tall tentacles that covered it’s entire underbelly. Thick, heavy scales covered it’s back terminating at the brow and revealing small green orbs which passed for eyes. Unblinking, and with a mouth twisted in perpetual malice; the Kraken made for quite the formidable adversity against the half-Gods he had once been to war against.

Yet the Christ was an opponent that the Kraken could not overcome. The scenario played out in his mind. Shards of light permeated the water and inflicted a kind of temporary paralysis that rendered the Kraken inert causing him to float helplessly towards the ocean surface whilst the bounds of Vesuvius were laid upon the master to which he remained loyal towards.

Today the Kraken would visit, as he peered up towards the reddish hue that coated the top of his briny stew. He felt the heavy pains of isolation melt away in zestful anticipation for his visitor.

As the dusk gave way to the thick and solemn darkness, he could sense the presence of something large approaching. It wasn’t quite intuition he thought, but rather an awareness of an abnormal shift in the current that surrounded him. He could feel more force being directed towards the left side of his torso, indicating a great mass that rapidly approached.

Moments later, he could hear or rather sense -- the war cry of the Kraken as it plowed it’s way forward. This was a defence mechanism designed to scare off unwanted company to ensure the forthcoming conversation would be a private one.

A school of fish promptly darted off into the distance as did a lone jellyfish who comically propelled itself diagonally away from the source of it’s terror.

Looking about, the emptiness cloaked itself around him with a welcome silence that lingered hesitantly. Bringing about a sanctity to the proceedings that would follow.

The current slowed, the presence neared and soon made itself known in the form of a black shadow that drifted his way. It appeared as a speck frozen in time, growing larger with each passing second until it stood before him.

The voice that emanated addressed him in a tone of reverence that never failed to swell his pride each time he heard it.

“Hail thee, sir master of the sea. As below, so shall be above. I trust you have been well as one befitting your stature is able to be.”

He had always enjoyed the poetic lyricism of the Kraken, it was such a strange contrast to the frightful appearance that often implied a simple-minded, brutish intelligence devoid of compassion.

“Hail thee, my friend. Come forth. What news have you brought me?”

The features of the Kraken came sharply into focus, the cruelty of it’s toothless maw opened up in what he had now taken to be a smile. The hard, penetrating gaze he accepted as a look of intense focus and an expression of sincerity. His heart swelled upon the recognizance of his one, true friend.

“My master. I bring you an unusual tale of fiery hail. Rocks of a wretched heat that have scattered upon the Earth spreading walls of flame that have marched upon the lands above.”

Touching the metal bracelet with the tips of his fingers, Poseidon stiffened. This was news indeed!

“Do regal me, my friend. To which purpose would one suppose such a demonstration should entail?”

Thin wispy bubbles heaved out of the Kraken’s nostrils as if in a sigh.

“Master, I do not know. The destruction of mankind or a show. The oceans remain unaffected as you have observed. Or perhaps have already heard.”

Furrowing his brow, he looked up. The Kraken’s face was bathed in the white ghostly glow of the full moon.

Poseidon glanced about warily, eyes wide open and sparkling with a great curiosity that has made the weight of his chains ever the more unbearable.

“My friend. Could this be the work of the Christian Lord? Are the days of reckoning upon us?”

The Kraken paused thoughtfully.

“Master. Perhaps that is so. I have swam as close as I could dare, to acknowledge a sight so rare. Bodies as far as the eye can see and nothing more than the burnt embers of trees.”

“Where upon have you seen such things? The East?”

“Everywhere my Master. The East, The North, The South, The West. I do not jest. Cities, dwellings, ports and all the rest.”

“It is upon us!” cracking a wry smile, he could hardly contain the jubilation that such tragedy had afforded him.

The Kraken stared at him with a forlornly.

“Master. There is something that you must know, before you celebrate such a tale of woe. A crevice had emerged, to which something has been submerged. A being you know well, sent to the great depths of hell.”

“No..” He felt the word escape his lips, swimming off into the darkness.

“I regret to inform, the crow has plucked the worm. The Christ that you await, has met an untimely fate. There could be heard a great roar, as he hath perished forever more.”

He could feel the tension in his muscles loosening. A smug expression crossed Poseidon’s face.

“Then this would mean a new God has taken up the mantle.”

“It would appear so.”

A terrible crackling shook his feet. He could feel heavy vibrations travel up his spine, rattling his head as it perched hesitantly upon his neck. Fissures opened in the ground and steam billowed forth. The heat was of a torturous sort, threatening to peel off the layers of his impenetrable skin and he could feel a boiling in his gut -- as if he was being cooked alive.

“Kraken! What is happening?” He screamed.

The Kraken remained unmoving, silently staring forward.

“My friend! Please tell me you know what this is!”

Looking down, he could see the cracks becoming larger and molten lava burbled in between his toes. While he was immortal, he certainly could -- and did -- experience pain. This was unlike anything he has ever felt.

Memories flooded his mind. His coronation. The family he once had. An Earth dwelling wife with whom he consorted and sired children by. The decimation of coastal cities that he instigated with malice towards citizens who dared not afford him the respect befitting a God of the ocean. The ships he capsized on a lark.

As the chains turned bright red, Poseidon could feel his flesh sloughing away. Blood escaped from his body to create vast plumes that hung about like an oily cloud. Obscuring his visibility which dimmed noticeably with each passing moment.

Until soon, there was darkness. And the heat was no more.