30 in 30 Poetry Edition Poetry
June 7, 2012

30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 7

I am teen angst.
I wear this mass-produced Hot Topic T-shirt
As a statement of individuality.
I spend time practicing drawing the anarchy symbol.
I don’t know a lot about anarchy,
but my circle-A looks perfect.

I rebel because I like saying I rebel.
The looks of shock and disgust are attention.
We’ve got a losers table in the cafeteria,
You’re not invited.
None of us really like each other.
It’s easier for me to gross out all the girls,
Scare them away forever,
Than to try and hold a conversation.

If you offered me a deal,
Where I traded in all my black shirts,
Cut my hair and shaved,
And in exchange I’d have someone that cared about me…

I’d punch you dead in your shit.

Don’t you understand?
I draw my feelings in close like a turtle,
And I’d rather die on my back,
Than give you the satisfaction
Of watching me awkwardly save myself.

I am teen angst,
And I won’t change my ways
Until I’m sure nobody’s watching anymore.… (More) “30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 7”

30 in 30 Poetry Edition Poetry
June 6, 2012

30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 6: Demons

The strangest dream I ever had,
Was when I realized I was in one.
I was surrounded by demons on all sides,
Closing in, slowly but surely.
Making me wish I could do more with this last breath.
Wishing I had someone to tell that I loved them.
Wishing I had time to eat one more mango.
One more day getting in fights,
face ground against cinderblock.

Wondering how I was looking at myself in the third person.
And that was my first clue.

Wild hope sprung within me.
I might not get eaten by demons today.
I might get to go back to my life in Miami,
My stab wound was healed,
And I’d be going into 5th grade soon.
Things were looking up,
But the demons were ever closer.

I told my dream self,
“If you gasp, you’ll escape.”
I gasped. I escaped.

I looked around a familiar bedroom, heart still pounding.
I realized life on this side of the dream wasn’t much better.

When you’re the parent of a chronically bullied child,
It’s easy to tell the child the bullies are just jealous.
I was the smallest child in my class by far,
Working three years ahead, learning four languages.
I’d have traded my brains for any other body in a heartbeat.
Perpetuating a vicious cycle of antisocial behavior.
Realized life had already peaked at nine years old.
Told my mom I’d thought about drowning myself.

I often wondered what would have happened,
If the demons had caught me, killed me in my dreams.
I think I would’ve lost my mind that night.
I think I would’ve woken up half-dead.
Unable to defend myself even in the confines
Of my own head.… (More) “30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 6: Demons”

30 in 30 Poetry Edition Poetry
June 5, 2012

30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 5: Door-to-door Atheist

I’m a door-to-door atheist.
Hello ma’am, have you heard the good news about Jack Shit?
He’s a real man, and with your tithe he can do wondrously shitty things.
He can magically transform your wages into a megachurch,
with more glory given to itself than to a God that’s probably looking down in horror.
He might be wondering what got lost in translation,
His limitless knowledge translated from Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek to English with such precision
that every bible-pounding flag-waving Real American knows it as…
The Wordâ„¢.

I’m a door-to-door atheist.
No, ma’am, I am not driven by gods, ghosts, left-wing agendas, right-wing agendas, or flying spaghetti monsters.
I am not sponsored by God, Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, prophets, kings, fishers of men, hunters of vampires or the Pfizer corporation.
I’m just a man, wondering why so many of you have to fear Hell or need paradise to help each other.
Wondering if you realize just how many religions preceded yours,
That human history has shown that mythology is only religion with no believers left to defend it.

I am still beholden to an invisible force, I call it air.
I can do miracles with it.
I can take it deep into my body.
I can reverse the flow, in the form of a question.
In the form of a challenge.
In the form of a plea.

This plea comes courtesy of 13-year-old me, living in rural Kentucky.
Terrified of coming out, with brimstone in my left hand, fire in my right.
If you believe what you believe because you chose to, not because you were supposed to,
Understand that I’m doing the same thing.
Because we both made our choices,
but I respected yours.… (More) “30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 5: Door-to-door Atheist”

30 in 30 Poetry Edition Poetry
June 4, 2012

30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 4: Anticipation

Anticipation
The feeling preceding the letdown,
Impatiently waiting for your spot at the top of the slide,
Just so you can fall back to earth.

When is it not pessimism talking, but experience?
When do I get to say I’m not pessimistic, just well-weathered,
Turned cynical by a world that’s equal parts reality TV marathons and polarized politics?
It’s Election Day, you know.

Why is the poem in my head always superior to what you end up seeing?
Anticipation.
If I put shoes on my elbows and knees so I can run just after learning to crawl,
Is that close enough?
Am I enlightened yet?

If I think the mind is a well that will never run dry of thoughts, materials, poems,
Am I naïve, dangerously optimistic, or just wise beyond my years?
You’ve done four poems in five days, good for you.
That’s worth a gold star, for sure.
What about five weeks? Five months? Five years? Five centuries?
In the year 2379 will I be a brain in a jar hooked up to a word processor,
Processing pickled knowledge that I output as ASCII with an EOF control character when it’s apparent that I’ve run out of ideas?
Isolated and disconnected from the world that’s changed, changed again,
but yet is still nothing but fucking reality TV marathons and polarized politics?… (More) “30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 4: Anticipation”

30 in 30 Poetry Edition Poetry
June 3, 2012

30 In 30 Poetry Edition Day 3

How come people don’t like my LOLcats?
Got a blog full of thoughts people walk past.
Got a Wall, but it’s all full of mama’s trash,
“Love you, son! Walk the dog after drama class!”

Tweetin’ bout my life like FML,
All my followers are gurus with a book to sell.
Playin’ out like a bad skit on SNL,
Watchin’ the clock tick-tock on this life in teenage hell.

Can’t join that live-action role-play, no way,
Pops would rather I fit in and drink that Jose, okay.
Stop writin’ songs and bump that Coldplay, so safe.
Sip that Kool-aid after roach haze throat aches.

Startin’ to wonder if I’m not a freak;
Why else would my old man want me to not be me?
Would he rather I was that prep that pops E
With a fake-ass tan and some lame-assed beats?
If I hear you reminisce again then Im’ma scream,
I know in high school you got more ass than a toilet seat,
I know you’re disappointed that I don’t repeat the feat,
I know you hoped that you could do it all again through me.
I hope you realize that I’m not you and you’re not me,
But I’m through taking this in stride, I’m not your enemy.
I’m just an adolescent looking for a friend to see
in me, the me that I once seen in me, the me that wants to be,
be wanted constantly, respected honestly, but now it’s God and me,
in that Magic: The Gathering in the sky,
kicking it on cloud nine, told me that he liked my rhymes,
but that he had a doubt I ever felt the line
I wrote about there being no easy way out and that was fine.… (More) “30 In 30 Poetry Edition Day 3”

30 in 30 Poetry Edition Poetry
June 2, 2012

30 in 30 Poetry Edition Day 2: Conversation with a fatass.

Why yes, I will have another Baconator, you’re so polite.
I’m really feeling that last KFC gravy shot.
Do you mind if I wipe the grease off on your cat?
You do? Well then. I’ll be on my way.

I find the nicotine rush is much more intense when I stick a cigarette up each of my nostrils.
I am the Marlboro dragon, with the power of emphysema.
Kind sir, will you light the cigarettes stuck in my ears? I cannot reach them without singing my hair.
You won’t? Well then. I’ll be on my way.

You know what cuts down the burn after Tequila shots? Bath salt snooters.
Those crafty cats at the labs just keep evading the law.
If it’s legal, it’s gotta be okay. God knows the Government is watching out for my health.
I feel fucking fantastic. Excuse me miss, I’ll give you twenty bucks if you’ll let me chew your nose off.
No? Maybe an ear? No? Well then. I’ll be on my way.

What the fuck do you mean I can’t have a large Coke with my Double Down?
The great state of New York thought I was responsible enough to own and carry the pistol that is currently dangling from my middle finger.
Maybe Bloomberg is afraid it’ll keep me up past my bedtime.
Maybe I offend him with my chubby existence.
I think we can all agree, this is the most important step to making me skinny.
Oh, I can still grab a Big Gulp? Sixty-seven ounces of Coke for a dollar? Later.
I used to drink 20 ounce Pepsis, now I only buy Big Gulps. Triple the volume for 30 cents less! Thanks Mayor.

I can see you know best how to keep me healthy.… (More) “30 in 30 Poetry Edition Day 2: Conversation with a fatass.”

30 in 30 Poetry Edition
June 1, 2012

30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 1:

EDIT: So I just saw that @JordPlourde linked this to the Twitterverse. I hope you enjoy it but please be nice as this is, no bullshit, the first rhyming poem I’ve written since I was about 14.

I’m going to try and write and share 30 poems over the next 30 days, some freeform, some rhyming. Not really looking for critique, just getting in the habit of writing this way.

 

Do I enhance or inhibit, / suppress or exhibit / that creative process that I stress over? / Know what, forget it. / TGIF, so I’m goin’ blind, deaf, / dumb as a mic check, / pour me the high-test, / leave out the ice. Next / dive’s down the block / so I walk / till I fall / then I crawl / hands and knees / sayin’ please look away. / You don’t want to see this sad rerun on Saturday. / Better believe I’ve got reason to act this way. / Gotta make it big, get my own island like Cast Away. / So he say /

Liquid knowledge, / fact or fiction, / equal doses, / watch me mix ‘em.

Liquid knowledge, / words of wisdom, / I found ‘em in the bottom of the bottle, then I pissed ‘em in the snow, / bright yellow cursive on white parchment, / I felt encouraged to make some fine art, then / realized the penis mightier than this word, / I created a one-eyed monster, / spittin’ knowledge constantly, / I tell him no, but he don’t take no prompts from me. / Fact is it’s impossibly hard to be labeled a victim of circumstance / when you find your rhymes by gettin’ drunk enough to piss your pants.… (More) “30 in 30 Poetry Edition, Day 1:”

Poetry
May 25, 2012

Trawling the stream of consciousness.

How long will I stare at a blank page before I’m compelled to fill it with the overflow of an overactive imagination? It’s like some bizarre test of patience, a test of faith, that the gods of overstimulation by television and a city of millions will drop a complete poem in my lap as if by some artistic osmosis.

 

The fact remains that you only spill a perfect poetic vision by years of failing to do exactly that. If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, then my stream of consciousness is a stream populated by batshit flapping trout caught by psychopathic bears.

 

My repetition proves I aspire to be as insane as the artists I admire.

 

There’s a depth to the stream of consciousness that belies the name. It’s deep enough to bathe in the shockingly cold realization of what really can come out of your mind when you let the social constraints loose, like a snarling dog struggling against its leash for no reason other than to get away from you.

 

Maybe my depth perception isn’t what it once was; I have a hard time telling between shallow self-righteous verse and deep slices close to the bone of the skeletons that comprise my past. Maybe if it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me. Maybe depth is overrated and that’s how we have a mainstream dominated by its abolition, a celebration of the shallow, a festival of facades cleverly camouflaged as fun.

 

It’s fun to drink the period-accurate Flavor-Aid, especially if you get to drink it in the club.… (More) “Trawling the stream of consciousness.”

Gaming Tales From Skyrim
May 24, 2012

Tales From Skyrim, Vol. 1: Farilon’s First Day

17th Last Seed, 4E 201:

My name is Farilon, and I’ve just arrived in Skyrim’s port city of Solitude, having departed from Sunhold on Summerset Isle. I am determined to outdo my jackass of a cousin, Lathenil, who you probably know as the author of the Rising Threat series. Truth be told, he is a lying fraudster, never once in danger from the Oblivion Crisis. But that is a story for another day. I’ve arrived in Skyrim to begin exhaustive research on the alchemical properties of the local flora and fauna, and from this research provide practical formulae from commonly available materials. I do not intend to go up against sabrecats, hagravens, giants, mammoths, or anything more menacing than a mudcrab or skeever, and I ask that you, reader, do not either. No potion is an acceptable substitute for not putting yourself in danger in the first place.

(Player’s note: Farilon is a novice alchemist with a chip on his shoulder but little experience to his name. He’s almost entirely incapable of taking care of himself; he buys his food from the inn and would not handle sleeping outside well at all. He starts the game in Solitude thanks to the “Live Another Life” mod with a starting inventory of 25 gold, 2 bottles of water, a loaf of bread, a sweetroll, a small dagger, and one set of fine clothes. Mods are tracking his hunger, thirst, sleep deprivation, warmth, dampness, basically all the things that one would really have to deal with in life. He starts with 30 Alchemy, 26 Illusion, and 21 Conjuration, but no spells. He will likely be spending some of his earnings on buying spells from the court wizard in Solitude.)

Solitude is a solid-looking town of typical Nordic architecture, the guards and the … (More) “Tales From Skyrim, Vol. 1: Farilon’s First Day”

Gaming Life Nerd Stuff
April 30, 2012

Ogre Game Labs: A Proposal

(This is intended for one person, really, but I thought I’d put it on here so you all could see a new project I’m wanting to work on and maybe express some interest.)

Myself and several other members have a particular interest in designing games, and enough new online tools have emerged recently that I want to pursue the thought of an extension of the OGREs. The Ogre Game Labs would be something a little different from a traditional chapter, as membership in it would be as temporary or permanent as the OGRE choosed, though they would need to first be OGREs to make use of the Game Labs.

The Ogre Game Labs has a few immediate goals and a few stretch goals. Immediate goals are:

  1. Provide a resource for game designers to get support in the designing of their game, through (mostly online) playtesting, consulting with other game designers, working with people that have experience in online game designing tools such as Vassal (www.vassalengine.org), Roll20 (www.roll20.net), and Magic Workstation (www.magicworkstation.com).
  2. Provide a way for gamers to get involved at the ground level of new games and designers/design teams. They can find a game concept that’s of particular interest and volunteer to playtest games, or find a group with a similar schedule. One resource will be that all OGREs will be able to set their availability by day of the week, and this will be public. By joining the Game Labs you opt-in to being contacted by designers who are available when you are.
  3. Answer some basic questions on copyright law as it pertains to card, board, and video games. Not legal advice but links to useful resources on how you are protected (and not protected) as a game designer.

Some stretch goals are:

  1. Provide connections to artists, graphic designers,
… (More) “Ogre Game Labs: A Proposal”