Christmas.

Horrible horrible poetry

Amid Christmas Cheer

I know, all I know
is one thing is clear.

Santa exists
and so do his Reindeer

I stand on wintery shelves and see my old tunes
I see old places and that quality that still echos the past

I remember remember the tokens of youth
And I long, I long to bring it back from the past...

The curtains are still staring at me....

So tired and lost
Oblivion and dust

Old things stare they have gained their share
Of wit and glinting intelligence

Panic panic attack
Panic panic attack

Helps nothing to put
What happened past back

There is no one answer
Only a thousand little ones

Piled in a corner
Forgotten and built like a lost civilization.

Once I was blind
Now I see

A thousand little truths
That belong to me.

Row, row, row your boat...

I have a lot to do. My tenure at the carpet cleaners is done. All that is left is to turn in my uniforms and pick up my last check.

Six years... almost to the day. I can't say how much this relieves me and makes me sad in a duplicitous sort of way. Sad to see it go, there were good times, and sad that I stayed so long; that I prolonged myself for such a long time. I never seem to know when to let go of something.

I gamed and had a good time tonight playing Firefly the RPG and my character has a groove... he may be a good choice to continue with.

I am a very different person from when I started at the Carpet cleaners. Six years ago I was six months out of Convergys and glad to be rid of the place. I was glad to be at the carpet cleaners because it was good solid work and the people were mostly happy with it when we were finished. Who could ask for more? Especially after the beige hell that was the 'Verge at it's worst. Watch Office Space and take what Peter deals with in his day to day office seriously for a moment and do the math. It wasn't always bad, and I met a lot of great people who matter even now in my life... especially that day where I got to run the cotton candy machine... and the one time at Damon's.

Right now my day job is over and I will attempt to get my studio rolling... scary shit; yet fascinating and thrilling... being off the map.

Off the map... one of my most favorite things. It implies a waking dream... where I get to choose my future... or at least directly influence it. This is life anyway. This is what it is to be awakened. Life is always awake, but we are usually not. Routine is a strength, but also a Great weakness. All those years ago reading Mage: The Ascension and thinking what it means to be awakened... and now I have some idea. The idea that WE are the music makers and that WE are the dreamers of the dreams. It is consciously deciding what we want ourselves to be... but also deeper than that... the though is just part of it not the completeness. There is no mere mind over matter - it's only when the mind, matter, and the self meet and push in the same direction with enough energy that the future is decided. Now imagine if everyone was like that? All those disparate voices working only for themselves... no sense of unity or the big picture... that explains something about the media and what it is to be an average human being. Maybe that's why we go to "sleep" and wait for someone with enough energy to inspire us? Why wisdom is so inscrutable? It's like someone talking to you while you sleep and only hearing half the conversation and it becomes part of the "dream"... so it's easy to loose what's real and what's not.

What am I becoming? What am I to be? What is "real" in my life and what is a "dream"? I am going to use this "off the map" session to attempt to find out...

A bunch of words I put together...

Onward to adventure
I do not wish to be a brother or a bother

I am going going forward
Never never going backward

A hope a chance
A personal montage in my heart

Saying saying what I think is wise
It makes me stop to wonder wonder what I realize

To see is sublime
To love the dark is truth

Yeh my heart burns forsooth.

I am going going forward
never never going backward

my world is strange
a mix of the old and there is only now

Hopeful yet wary
tired and fallen.

I must must sleep now
My bed is a'callin.

Jumping in place...

Touting about to and fro
Oh where oh where do I go?

Singing from tree to tree
looking for that missing part of me.

What once was lost now is found
Now Oh now I do not need to shop around

Good thing it runs on batteries... and a shovel.

*tong tong tong tong*

I really love to make up stuff. Ya know?

This is not a blog about gaming...

I have discovered this blog, which was intended to be a gaming blog, is not. Or rather it is, but in a deeper philosophical way as RPGs, which have been a part of my life for so long, actually help define my world view... all the strange ideas and viewpoints of playing different characters, settings and odd physics have fundamentally given me the tools to express the otherness that could very well be behind the world.

So I say gamer stuff, but sometimes I mean real stuff... the same way that only the truth is funny I guess.

So sorry I wont be telling you much about how to munchkin out your PC or advanced GM herding tactics, or how to avoid them when you run a game, because frankly, I don't think I have it in me any more.

I feel this big... raw spot and scars where my love of the game used to be. What do I gain from it? What does it solve in me that it hasn't already? I love stories and appreciate knowledge way more than I otherwise would have without it. I do not think gaming has any more to show me... I don't know... it's time to put away my toys and build some toys of my own I think. I think that's why I have been distant from my beloved hobby. No more passenger seat or spinning wheels - Time to dive... I said this already huh? Who knew?

An idea of heaven...

What is my idea of heaven?

I know it is not a place where angels fly and harps play.
It is not a place of perfection
It is not a place where there is only good.

Heaven is hope for the future and the idea of prosperity.
Heaven is to know there is a force that heals.
Heaven is not a perfect place.
Heaven is a place where the wrongs and utter darkness goes toward positive resolution.
Heaven is a place where one is tested and then tucked in at night.

Heaven is a place of perpetual endings and being found worthy of those endings.
Heaven is not a place. It only exists in potential of this exact and every moment.
Heaven is hugs and warm smiles.
Heaven is a place where the big picture is seen and recognized.
Heaven is knowing, but knowing it is yours too.

Heaven exists everywhere and nowhere
Heaven is an arrangement of facts and fictions colored with perception.
Heaven is at your door and every door always.

* Let me note that hell is also at every door step and every moment and all that, but we are talking about heaven here so it sounds all one sided ;P *

I want to state clearly this is not a religious "follow me to glory children" sort of thing... just some thoughts. I think this is true, but there are many paths to heaven - and hell so my flowered wall paper may be your madness... whatev's.

This blog about cleaning is not a blog about cleaning...

Cleaning... oh my God so much weight in regards to cleaning.

Right now I am attempting clean my room in my parents house. I want to clean the bath room, organize the kitchen, get the stuff out of the hallway and into the patio. It is cold and I am staying home to help my Dad today, I am edgy and frustrated. I want to take everything that we have never used and and never WILL use and do something dangerous with it, like blow it up, hit it with a hammer, or set it on fire.

There is so much history and past drama about cleaning yet none of it ever seems to get accomplished. I remember being a kid, and my mom flipping out about her dirty house, that when I was a teenager I would tell her that it didn't matter, that my friends didn't care what the house looked like, and I think over time she took it to heart...

I remember mom getting angry about the futility of it all, and it's true I am very much the same way... except I have seen how other people live. Their houses are not like this. I am a clutterific bastard, yet I can organize things according to a plan. In contrast I am a paragon of orderliness.

This house is falling apart and I hate to see it like this. The overall feel just contributes to the sense of futility witch leads to more frustration and depression. Everything is shabby and disorganized, and talking about it will just cause more drama and pain - when all that needs to be done is a dedicated use of elbow grease and a positive attitude.

There is my father however. My mom has always been naturally sad, and I think my dad has been too. Both of them seem to have bad opinions about themselves, and never had much to counter it? I don't know.

What I do know is that I had spent and still spend a good portion of my life having self doubt and bouts of epic despair about myself and the conditions of the world. Although I also learned over the years that it is impossible for the world to suck as bad as I imagine.

I know the world can be a really bad place, to tell you some of the awful shit I've seen over the years, and seeing inside people... but for fuck's sake sometimes shit goes RIGHT. That is one of the reasons I get so pissed at frustrated at my father. He could do something for himself here and get his head out of his ass... maybe I might learn something about that myself from him...

One thing I did learn from my dad is how to talk to people. He does have a natural charisma, as do my Uncles - I think it's a Curran thing. There is also a large amount of self doubt and... sadness? I can't quite place it.

All I know is that this issue seems so big and so epic that cleaning becomes difficult. I can sit here and clean superficial things, but the deep stuff will take a lot more to recover... and in the end I don't think it ever will get better... it's always been there. It wasn't as bad at this 20-30 years ago, but I think it's too far gone to ever be repaired. At least the cat is cute.

So, how can I get one of those home renovation shows to come and fix all the damage done over the years so we can be happy for once?

My Pants: A poem

My pants are cool
My pants envelope my leg's circumference

The have moved to Rhythm
To tones soft and sultry

They have frayed and ripped to
Frenzied beats and Frothing mouths

They Guide my feet through streets unknown.


My pants are faded raw
Dirty as Lust

Durable as John Fuckin' Wayne

They hold the Tools to reach my World
The Keys to my Art


My pants aren't right
If they don't go CLANK
Around my ankles when sweet Love is around
- or if it is time to sleep.

My pants are my companion
Scruffy, Used, and Loved
Whatever Pants they may be.


This bit of poetic excellence brought to you by
Chris Curran!! artist and ninja wordsmith!