Defining an Era.

What do we have that defines us as an era? Civilizations are judged based on their art, in the past ten years we've gained an amazing way to share anything with anyone around the world. The stage is bigger than ever before yet I feel like it has never been emptier. I feel like we lack a rallying cry for change, we all have opinions but what we are lacking is expression. Something that changes the landscape of how we see things. Challenging philosophy, religion, morality,society. It feels like people are too busy to survive than to stop and feel. We live in a society where feeling has been deemed irrational. How do I change it?

Death.

The life of a writer is often a lonely one. No one quite understands where your mind wonders or why. It's hard to tell others, because the ideas that go through your head are quiet often grandiose and frankly insane. The ones you want to listen are the ones who shy away, and the ones who are open are the ones your not sure you want to tell. My mind wanders and broods today, and I came to a crossroad in my story telling that I'm not sure if I want to explore. The character in my adventure story that I tease here is a part of me, the young minded boy who wants nothing more than to achieve his dream. He takes the steps necessary to achieve that dream and is taken in a direction he didn't foresee. Through him I take upon my biggest challenge: stay the course, strive, achieve, in the face of scrutiny and personal guilt. I may want to give him more than that, to tackle my biggest fear, death. I am desperately afraid of dying, to fizzle out before I'm able to accomplish the things I want to. The anxiety of sands running through the neck; unseen through the opaque exterior of our hourglass. Would I kill this portrayal of myself? All the things I have had planned for him, the grand journey. People would never experience it, nor would they know what they are missing. Such is the fashion of death. I always frowned upon resurrection in stories. There is no coming back from death. It's permanent, if the reader doesn't fear death, there is no consequence for the characters. Any sense of adventure becomes null. Some resurrections are tasteful; like Harry's in "The Deathly Hallows". They way it was handled didn't cheapen mortality but instead gave it more purpose. Just like actual life, we'll see it where this story takes me.

Love.

Love can never be fully defined. Sometimes you just meet a person and they take your breath away, and no matter how much you try that feeling never goes away. It's sickening and maddening. Your reason tells you that's there is no chance, that love is a chemical reaction in the brain, that if by some off chance that maybe, they would even listen to the stammering words that come out of your mouth; and not think your crazy, who says that they won't hurt you. Won't decimate your heart like the rest. Who says that you even deserve to call it love; the most fragile of all words, yet the most empowering? You do. Love is irrational. Love is what you make it.

The (Odd)ssey

I'm often asked the question, if I believe in God, or any god. I often ask myself what I believe in, if it can be categorized at all. Buddhism,Confucianism, or any other ism. I've come to the conclusion I don't like being told what to believe or how to believe it. So far, what I've learned by myself is, there are things that are unexplained, things that can just be chalked up as “what are the odds?”, and things where you just can't help but call a friend and say “You're never going to believe this!” and then there are moments where you sit back and you can't say anything at all, your in awe. Your not sure what happened, how it happened, or why. You just know it did. You rarely tell anyone, you just know that it was something. Today I had a “You're never going to believe this!”. And after this incident no matter how shmaltzy or overdone something looks in a movie, or reads in a book, I'm giving that writer the benefit of the doubt. Being the long winded man that I am, I'll tell you the long version of the story.

It was the day after Thanksgiving and as much as I love my family, I can't be around all of their “unique” personality quirks for too long. For those of you who don't know; the Zabinski/Thompson/ Bishop clan consists of my brother, sister, mother, grandmother, Buddy the cat, and Bella the “dog”, and my six foot-four, two hundred and fifty pound self. Now imagine all of us sardined into a one bedroom apartment. So to combat my cabin fever I talked my brother into coming with me to drop off the library books (that they never read) and to maybe sit down with him to figure out a way to get him into any kind of literature. Little did I know, the city of West Allis apparently observes Black Friday as a holiday and was closed. Since I didn't feel like going back we took a tour of the downtown shops, seeing if we could find a book store where I could accomplish the aforementioned task.

We stopped at a little shop that, frankly had one too many gun magazines, posters, and paraphernalia for my comfort. The cherry on top was a “We don't call the police.” wooden sign, complete with a hand carved revolver. Oh, and the science fiction was next to the adult section. “Ender's Game” was three inches from a Playboy that featured ex-WWE wrestler Chyna on the cover. Social profiling! I was also disheartened by the best sellers rack: does anybody read anything that doesn't have to do with Vampires? I guess I should be happy people are reading at all. Anyways, I asked the lady at the counter if she had John Steakely's “Armor.” I've been having problems finding that particular book off my reading list. She told me check out this half price books and records store a few blocks down, she also warned me it was a bit “cluttered'. The look on her face when she said “cluttered” should have been a red flag. Her lack of hesitation or any other kind of warning gesture was comforting, so I avoided the obnoxiously loud man on the phone, talking about how he's “gunna make Jimmie's fight look like a kiddie fight if he doesn't shut his damned mouth .” and was on my way.

No words of warning would have prepared me for what I was about to walk into, admittedly none of those words would have kept my stubborn self away anyways. The first thing we see before we even get into this place, is a man staring us down as we approach the door. He had that odd look certain people exude, the “I probably shouldn’t leave any valuables, and/or small children unattended.” type of vibe. He looked like a chimney sweep from Mary Poppins, except he didn't do any kind of song or dance, he just blocked the door. We assumed they weren’t open yet because the lady on the other side of the door just stared at us blankly. We started to walk away and the chimney sweep yelled “She's open!” and opened the door a lot like he was possibly a bellhop before his current occupation of unsettling guy in front of the not yet known to us even more unsettling store. So Zach and I literally squeeze past this guy and the blank expression lady. Only to have her flag us down.

“Leave your bags at the counter.” Me, being the sensible man that I am, looked for some sort of desk or table. If there was one it was very possibly covered by a guesstimate of eight hundred books.

“Where?” I asked.

“Oh, just leave them here.” she said sweetly. So we did. We finally departed the entrance way 'o' books and stumble into the “store” if you can even call it that. I did some neandering as I usually do, letting my ADD get the best of me. Until I noticed there is no rhyme nor reason to the organization: the VHS version of “Uncle Buck, was bungee corded to a bookcase housing a couple dozen vinyl records, which was also happened to reside next to a stack of Stephen King novels (and books written under his Richard Bachman alias that I thought was pretty neat.) I fought it hard not to be cliche and do the whole “this place is strait out of one of these” joke, but alas I couldn't resist. Ok, I thought. This can't be as bad as it looks, there has to be some catalog, or system I'm missing.

“Excuse me, how would I go about finding a particular book?”

“You'll just have to look.” She answeres. I gave her my blank, single-blink “are you joking?” face, it was the least rude thing I probably could have responded with at that point.

“It's a science fiction book.” I tried to clarify.

“There are some books there, there, behind me and over there.” I would like to say she gestured but she really didn't. It was then I got a decent look at her. Her body was small and boxy, she wore her hair like she was the bride of Frankenstein; minus the hairspray, and her wardrobe was mix between gypsy nomad, and a seventies burnout. She was definitely to old too be a hippie, so the only logical conclusion my brain could fathom was she was indeed the pioneer of acid.

“Uhmm, Ok, Thank you.” I replied. She smiled at me with missing teeth, her eyes peering through her rose tinted glasses, as I partook on my wild treasure hunt. I found my brother playing with a giant stuffed dog and pony; that happened to be right in between a slew of random fiction novels, and by slew I mean stacked a few rows back and meeting me at eye level. Leave it to my brother to find the most non-book related thing to do. Until of course the horse started randomly playing music. Needless to say we left that corner fairly quick. Something else that was weird during our excursion was that we kept passing the front end, wandering through the vast clutter of the store, and there was an ever cycling single dirty magazine that kept changing as we walked by. Not Playboys either. Hardcore, full frontal, bondage, all of the above; a different one every time we walked by that same same spot. My brother couldn't help but mention the revolving door of porno, and I couldn't help but quietly laugh my ass off. We quickly realized we weren’t going to find what we where looking for when the proposed sections to search where all three books deep, where blocked by heaps of text on the floor, garbage bags full of stuffed animals, random artifacts of clothing, and step ladders. We did find some interesting books tho, she had an immense collection of Isaac Asimov, and most of the “Dune” series. I took a quick video of one of the rooms, which was probably the most organized of them all. I honestly wish I could rent that place out and film something, anything. The longer you spent in that place, the more unsettling it became.

So we decided to leave, finding nothing we wanted at that moment. We where leaving empty handed, and had slung out backpacks; ready to walk out. The storekeeper was having none of that. She proceeded to try and sell me something, her body language showed she was nervous. I felt bad, I really wish I had the money to take a few books off hee hands. But, then she brought out the big guns.

“Are you into adult magazines?” she prodded. I didn't responded. Zach let out his signature laugh-scoff

“I got adult movies too.” I began to say no thank you, but she kept insisting, and she was blocking the door. So I obliged. She pointed at the flimsy plastic file cabinet. I went to grabbed the top drawer and it was definitely stuck.

“Just tug it real hard.” I saw the cabinet sway from just my light pull. Just what I would need, a hundred dirty movies falling all over causing a catastrophic tidal wave through out the store. So I smartened up and yanked a different drawer. To the comedic delight of my little brother, it was titled something to the effect of “Takin' It to Brown Town!” or “No Place like Brown Town!”. Either way I shut the drawer and expressed my gratitude for her hospitality, until she gave us enough to wiggle past her and out the door. Fresh air blasted our nostrils clearing it of the overwhelming sandstorm of dust that we kicked up during our needle hunt. We laughed and commented freely on our way back home. It was the most ridiculous moment that I've had the privilege(?) of experiencing the past year. But, as outlandish as it was I really wish I could have helped out the poor lady, burnout or not. It would take the better part of the decade for any system of organization to be developed, and I'm sure anyone with the slightest of allergies would be at a major health risk. It's just oddly inspiring that amidst the likes of Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and the advent of E-readers that she's can even stay open, although I don't know for how long.

Truth is at the end of the day, the thing that I believe most, is people will never cease to amaze me. Our intricacies, our flaws, our accomplishments. How we can take things to new heights, innovate, conceptualize, or we can be destructive, selfish, and malign. Humans are as unique and breath taking as anything you'll see in the most exotic of places. You just have to open your eyes.

Hiatus

So I haven't posted any blogs in a few months. Life just has that ability to test how committed you are to your dreams. Turns out I was a lot less committed than I thought. Life also it seems to like having everything fall apart just as soon as you have it figured out. As much as I strive for comfort, it seems to elude me. I would love just a room somewhere, a room with a desk, where I can sit there and write. Do what not only what I do best, but the only thing I can do right now. The thing about me is I'm obsessive. This sickening feeling I get in my stomach when in not making progress. I'n not content working a dead end job, I need to have that visible improvement. I'm twenty-two years old, I see people living their dreams everyday. They don't listen to everyone telling them that it's not probable, that for everyone that succeeds there is a hundred that fail. I have the focus, the desire. I just need to find a way, a way to clear my head. A way to get my head around being virtually homeless. Even when I have a place to stay; it's been a long while since I had a place I can call home. I'm done venting for now. Time to step up and find some inspiration somewhere, anywhere.

Weekly Short 1: The Storm

This is the first entry in my weekly blog fiction shorts. This is for me to get feedback on my writing; and to get more noticed as a fiction author. It would be greatly appreciated if you would either leave a message on here using your Google account; or let me know what you think on Twitter! Every little bit helps, and as always thank you for reading.

                                                                                                                            

Part 1: Not So Calm

Stress? Fuck stress. My girlfriend, who I don't even like; says she late. I wrapped up, she's on the pill and she's late? Either there's a higher power that hates me, or I spurt some kind of super seed. I don't have a job to support myself; much less support a kid. I don't even have family to help out. I'm fucked. Yeah, that's what got me into this mess.

“Ben you good bro?”

Bill caught a glimpse of Ben who was staring out the window of the car as it drove on the freeway; watching the radiant pink and orange fading into the dark of the night; while his mind writhed with tension.

“Yeah man, I'm great.”

“Alright, you just look really out of it today.”

“I'm just tired. Working on music all night will do that to ya.”

In reality Ben spent all night staring at a half finished resume wondering what the hell he's doing with his life. He contemplated everything from quitting his job and playing on the street corner for cash, to saying fuck his dreams and working full time somewhere he hates just for the money. His newest line of thought was quickly interrupted by Chris calling from the driver's seat.

“Which reminds me when are you gunna have that piece for my cousin done?”

Shit, I forgot about that. Should have had that done weeks ago. The guy's offering me money to advertise his movie and all I can do is sit back and grovel. I'll do it tonight.

“I'll have it done by the end of the week.”

“Alright, he's pretty excited, he talks about it every time I see him. He thinks you have real talent Benny.”

Chris was one of his longtime friends and one of the only people who he could bear calling him “Benny” It reminded him of high school when his teacher though it was clever to call him and his friends “Benny and the jets”.

“Yeah I know, I'm just a little swamped right now.”

Swamped, Yeah. I wish I never had to sleep. I could get so much more done. I don't honestly even have that much on my plate. It's just that It's so hard to get everything done with everything going on in my fucking head. I just need a place to rest a place to...

“Holy shit, did you see that?”

Charlie had been quiet most of the night, he had just gotten back from his first tour in Iraq and was feeling a little awkward. The car began driving through a half tunnel; the driver side was held up by pillars so Ben could continue his gaze at the setting sun. They only one to seem excited was Bill, who happened to be photographer and loved to catch things on camera.

“What?”

“There was like a bunch of orange flashing going on to the east of us behind those buildings.”

The car pulled through the tunnel and out of curiosity everyone shuffled around to check what Charlie had caught a glimpse of; the clouds where setting in from the west. hovering in frenzied, and malevolent. The stratosphere twisted and contorted struggling to keep back the setting suns golden rays. The struggle seemed to cease, the human eye struggling to see the black bending on itself. The split second calm was interrupted by flashing streaks running through the clouds; startling wicked veins of gold, their reaching tendrils expanding across the sky. Charlie interrupted the moment of awe leaning over to Chris.

“Are we going that way?”

“Nope”

Charlie nodded his head with a smirk. “Good.”

Bill grabbed his cell phone and started taking as many pictures as he could.

“Dude, this is some Thor god of thunder shit right here, I wish I had my fuckin' camera.”

Ben watched intently; the display of power was inspirational; lyrics seemed to form instantly in his mind. Everyone else joked on as Chris turned up the music and sped up to reach the theater in time for the previews; it was generally agreed those where the best part of every movie.

                                                                                                                               

Part 2: Fire from the sky

Man, Scarlett Johansson is the hottest girl to ever walk the earth. I wish my girlfriend would kicking my ass, throw me on the hood of a moving car; only to straddle me as the driver freaks out.

“Aww c'mon!”

The lights dimmed, flickered and went dark, along with the screen. Only once the roar of the sound system died did they hear the intense hail beating on the theater's rooftop. Chris was clearly displeased.

“Really? My Fuckin' Car is out there.”

“Well there's no use staying squashed, there's not even any air conditioning. Let's head to the lobby.”

They boy's collectively grabbed their soda's and marched down to the lobby, along with the majority of spectators. The sounds coming from outside where ferocious; thunder rattled away as if angels had been waging war with automatic weapons. They entered the lobby with the already growing mob of the theater's customers. The manager mentioned that everyone who had their ticket stubs would get free admission upon their next visit. Bill felt around his pockets.

“God Damn it, I always throw those out. Who keeps those things?”

Ben held his up while taking a sip of ultra sized soda, and the other two had theirs as well.

“Fuck you guys.”

Thunder rattled the glass doors lining the front of the theater. Painting a grim picture; rain was gathering on the ground faster than it could drain. The hail bounced off the pavement, and chinked off the cars in the parking lot. Chris' anger swelled as he yelled obscenities, until Bill tried to calm him down.

“You wanna make a run for it?”

Charlie and Ben quickly voiced their disdain for the idea.

“Definitely not, do you see how bad it is out there? It's like Armageddon came six months early!”

“He isn't kidding it's bonkers out there.”

Chris retaliated for idea he now clearly supported.

“Then you guys can fucking walk, I don't want to sit here anymore. We'll go to my place and wait it out.”

God, he can be such a dick when his precious car is involved.

“Alright I guess.”

Charlie just sighed.

Chris counted and lead the way, Ben brought up the rear and they sprinted to the car, until Ben slipped face-first onto the pavement. Taking a moment to pick himself up; he heard the full wrath of nature, no longer muted by the sanctuary of the theater. He took a moment to listen as the hail and rain fell upon his head. Charlie came back to help him up extending his hand for support. Ben saw the hairs standing straight up on his arm, and quickly looked Charlie in the eyes. By the look on his face; he seemed to have noticed as well. Ben thought ears where buzzing from the fall but it amplified exponentially as he came to a knee. The pole beside them began to radiate a dull blue light that flickered like a dancing flame. Ben's focused shifted to Chris and Bill, who had reached already the car. Bill was in the passenger seat while Chris held the door open yelling for them to move their ass. If the pole was a flame, the car was an inferno.

“Chris!”

Ben and Charlie yelled, but it was too late. The buzzing snapped in their ears and became an explosion; as a giant blazing arc came from the sky and struck Chris's car in a blinding flash. Sparks fell to the ground and the impact shook the car, and sent Chris tumbling through the pavement. Charlie took off full sprint towards Chris; whose body thrashed and yawed. Ben was frozen in place, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He saw Bill stumble out of the car door, crawling with his forearms through the river forming at the base of the car. Ben still sat on one knee, observing as always; noticing the smoke against the black sky, hearing the faint sound of sirens being drowned by the bass of explosive thunder. He stood and walked in shock towards his friends, the road came into view. Cars lay dead in the street, raging fires and the spinning lights of emergency vehicles overwhelmed his retina. His zombie state was interrupted by Bills hand grabbing at his pant leg with one hand and grasping one of his bleeding ears in the other. Only then did he hear Charlie's shouts; standing over a calmed Chris. There was a fire in his eyes, his training kicked in, and it rested on his shoulders whether they would perish or survive.

Ben picked up Bill by his waste and helped him for a couple steps as they began their rush back to the theater. Ben watched as Charlie hefted Chris over his shoulders, and began jogging towards the door, something straight out of a Saving Private Ryan. Bill stumbled after and once again Ben brought up the rear, and once again he stopped. He felt it against will; his muscles tightening; his heart constricting. He looked past the theater. Strikes three times the size of the one that hit his friends. They followed in succession, causing explosions, and havoc in their wake. It was inevitable. It was going to hit the theater. There was no quarry in which to run. The hair stood up on his arms. He felt the pressure well up in his head and his eardrums began to reverberate. The blue flames enveloped everything around him, the light poles, the cars, the theater. He was wrong before. This was an inferno. His blood began to boil and then, there was a flash.

The World We Live In

Social networking allows us to view the thoughts and opinions of the world around us, with a click of a couple buttons you can see the thoughts of your friends, family, celebrities, and perfect strangers. Amy Winehouse was found dead today in her apartment today. She was as public as possible with her obsession with drugs, and although nothing right now has been officially said, I'm positive it played some tole in her undoing. This is sad for fans of her music, as an artist she touched a lot of peoples lives, addict or not. The problem is that there where a number of atrocious events happening in recent times that should have more publicity; mainly Norway and Japan. To these people I ask this question. Do you know of the genocide in Darfur, the Children forced into arms in Africa, the 45 million people in poverty in America alone, The civil unrest in the Middle East, or that there was a fire on a train that killed 41 people, or that that there was a car crash that killed a wife with her unborn child caused by a drunk driver, or that there was a shooting that killed four people down the street. Get the picture? The news reports the stuff they do, because we tell them to. We see these awful things and we bitch and moan, but what actions are we taking? We don't tell them directly; but at the end of the day we continue on with our lives and don't lift a single finger to change the world we live in. So why not lament over the death of an artist that was beloved by fans, and was the center of media attention? When we already know how grotesque our would is and we do nothing to change it. We see this cliched quote more often than we think but it rings as true now as it ever has.

"All that is necessary for evil to triumph; is for good men to do nothing."

Remembering the Reason

I don't know if it's because I'm a writer and it's my job to dramatize and add meaning to things that aren't there but I had some kind of moment today, some message from somewhere. Be it some biological resemblance that resides in like minds; stimulated across years and plains, or an angel whispering in my ear. I was reminded of something, reminded that you can take misfortunes many different ways, that you can choose to take your life in any direction. It's not about successful, rich or famous, it's about how you make people feel. How you can change the tide of a persons life with a couple words. Remind a person that there is so much you can go through in your life, and you can take it positive or negative. This quote sent shivers down my spine tonight, it was after an accident including one of the troubled characters, caused by this stories version of what most people would call an angel; weird I know. They accompanied him on his ride to the hospital, one of them said “A lil physical damage is good every once in a while, reminds you that when you feel like god, you are only human.” Before my accident that's how I felt, untouchable. After my accident I feel anything but. I do know though had it not been for the past few years of my life I would not be the person I am today. As flawed as I might be, I feel like I can make a difference. Make things a lil' better maybe not for you and me, but for our children or our grand children.

Comfort

So, I've been writing my adventure story, trying to figure out what is the platform to send the protagonist out on his adventure. I wonder why we as people always need something catastrophic to actually go and experience our lives. Why do we sacrifice our happiness for comfort?

Place for my head.

Another sleepless night. Another night where I can't even write my thoughts into words, embarrassed by how angry I have become. I feel like all I do is complain lately. I just feel crushed. By the entirety of my life. Why does my mind work the way it does, why can't I just let it all go. I keep pushing onward turning more inwards as time goes by, getting angrier and angrier as time goes by. The world I want, and the world that's reality are so much different. I want to run. A place to rest, a place to think. No time to rest. No time to think. Everyone depends on you. Your family needs you. I try to write to relieve these feelings but they latch to my chest, like a heart attack. I want to go back, Thirteen, Fourteen years. I want to feel safe, next to my Tanta in her big red chair, watching CNN as she gives me all the tips she can about life before they happen. Warning me of the woes of life with gentlest of touch. Teaching me that open mind and a golden heart is what matters, showing me patience, sparking my imagination. I wish I could go back during times like this, I wish I could go back to being the me I want to be. The one with the selfless heart, who isn't afraid of being hurt. The ones who's intentions are never of his own. Not holding anger and disdain in my heart, but hope. Hope that this could all change, that I can be a difference. I could change the world for the better. The kid who loves everyone, and doesn't have the love exploited or turned against him. Void of scars. I just want to ask her what to do, where to go.

Obsession

Today I really saw how obsessed I have become. I barely dream anymore. It's all nightmares, nightmares of fighting, and fighting and reaching the inevitable end of failing, that I could have done more, but I wasn't strong enough. I want nothing more but to be successful, everything in my way frustrates me. What used to make me feel accomplished like having a steady job at Office Depot, makes me angry. It stands for everything that I'm not. I feel like it defines who I currently am. I don't want be trapped forever making nothing and hour doing something that I really couldn't care less about. I want to write. Anything. I want to control my own life. I want to not worry about my brother and sister growing up wrong. I want to make a difference. I'm sick of wanting. I'm sick of complaining. I'm sick of being so anxious like every minute of my life not going towards my goals is a moment wasted. I've become obsessed. The only time I have had a decent night's sleep was when I finally spluttered out the first few lines of my new unnamed story. I love creating stories I just wish I didn't have this constant anxiety. This devil on my back, whispering in my ear how I'm going to fail. I'm going to be making everyone else more money for the rest of my life. Changing nothing.

Sneak Peak at new adventure/fantasy story.

Real stories, have no beginning, no end. Real stories are the ones we can listen to for hours and never get bored. When the fire goes out, everyone stands around the smoldering ashes, not wanting; needing more. You have the gravity in your chest, your the negative; the words the positive. Everyone yearns for those stories. The ones that aren't just about a boy becoming a man, the prodigal son, or the great journey; but the world they take part in. Where you would rather live the life of a bi-stander, than to do whatever it is your told you have to do. You'd rather drink the shittiest ale in a tavern; that wreaks of the homeless and the lowly. Hearing the squabble of the same damn married couple that's there every night. Fighting so diligently about nothing. You can see he abuses her. The marks on her cheek, but by the size of the woman she certainly could stop him, if she so desired. A dimly lit run down hole in ground, where the door screeched like a banshee when it was opened, and every drunk's glazed, clumsy eyes peered at you like you where late to Sunday mass. The regulars never flinched, striding to the average looking bartender. The one who's laugh gets more infectious through the night, and when the the light hits their eyes just right; has you smitten after a pint of the house rum. This customer however was much different.

My Love Story with Halo

My Love Story with Halo

Every human must have their inspiration, the thing that propels them in a direction that they can't help but yearn for. There will always be muses here and there, that keep you going, leave your jaw agape; wretch your heart or satisfy your thirst. But, there will always be that one moment, that one object of obsession you hold close, the thing that started it all, and for me that's Halo.

Halo: Combat Evolved

Christmas 2001 6^th grade, and it seemed liked everyone in my class was talking about their Xbox they received, and Halo. They talks resumed and my jealousy peaked as I heard about how you could bring your box to another person's house and have a LAN party. Something I always thought of but never heard of. I finally got my hands on it during a friends birthday party and I hated it. I couldn't keep up with any of the players, I never played a first-person shooter before and the controller was so big and bulky for my PlayStation honed mind that I had to keep looking down at the control to see what did what. Until my friend Nick showed me how to get into a tank, and we destroyed the competition. I was hooked ever since. I would go over by Nick's and play co-op. I fell in love with the environments, the unique engagements, the way the world was built and the story felt. I saved up all my money from my birthday and chores around my Nana and Tanta's. I bought my own Xbox and Halo. I played everyday, I memorized the journey of Masterchief. The opening of the hushed casket, being reunited with Cortana (for the first time), the desperate struggle by Captain Keys, the crash landing on Halo, Truth and Reconciliation, the Forerunner architecture, the Silent Cartographer, the reveal of the Flood, the betrayal of Guilty Spark, and the destruction of Halo. I loved every moment even the dreaded Library. I was hooked, I played the multiplayer every chance I got and became one of the best of my group rivaled only by the one who got me hooked in the first place, Nick. It was only a matter of time before we saw this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cojjVDdtB8g

Perchance to Dream

Halo 2, our young minds ran rampant with speculation. The Covenant had invaded earth, and Masterchief and Cortana would be the only thing standing in their way. We talked about it every day revealing any tidbits we found. Nick would show me his Xbox magazine, that all kinds of tantalizing concepts; new vehicle variations, allies that could drive, enemies that would seek you out and call in death squads to route you out. A year later we got this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_y3cbIV-Xg Absolute goosebumps. For a week straight I would watch it before bed, thinking this was the greatest thing I had ever saw. That trailer was 2004 and it hadn't come out before we graduated from Middle school. I never really fit into High School (Go figure from a guy who would watch a demo from a Videogame before bedtime) but I grew into the online community meeting players like “Sapwood” who incidentally lived in Wisconsin, and Halo.Bungie.Org (HBO). In my zest for information. I picked up Halo: The Fall of Reach by Eric Nylund, novel prequel to the Halo game.

The Great Journey

Mind you at this point in my life I was a freshman in High School, up until that very point in my life I hated reading. It's not that I was bad at it, it was just shoved down my throat every year of my life and there wasn't a single book I connected with. Not even a little. In fact I don't think I read a book all the way through up until that point in my life. The stark contrast was, I couldn't put the thing down. I read it to, from, and during class.

I read about Captain Keyes and Doctor Halsey, two individuals who are taken to the edge by a civil war between the outer colonies of human's expansion into space, who had to make questionable decisions for their beliefs. I read about John the brown haired boy with a lucky streak, whom the Captain and Doctor would abduct from his home. About a camp with other children with various talents, all exceptional in their own way. They trained these children harder than any man, mentally, physically. They augmented their bodies, some to the point of disfiguration or death. They trained the children to become Spartan's. The successor of the Greek warriors who famously held off the Persian empire during the battle for Thermopylae. I read about that brown haired boy becoming Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan 117 “Master Chief”, his first operation, The arrival of the Covenant, and their motives. “Your destruction is the will of our gods, and we are their instruments.” and you read of the destruction of John's home, his soldiers, his friends by the hands of the Covenant.

I was blown away, I was sucked in. There was nothing on this planet that was quite like his journey, it gave so much insight to the man behind the armor; to the world that those characters where thrust into. My mind ebbed and flowed. I always had grand images in my head. I was brought up to be creative. Yet I never really had an outlet, I was too clumsy to be an artist, made to many mistakes. It was impossible to live up to the grand pictures I my head. Writing, gave me that outlet. Eric Nylund with the somber tale of desperate humans showed me that outlet. In middle school, I “like-liked” Halo, In high school I fell in love. Eric Nylund released another Novel, Halo: First Strike months before Halo 2's release. First book I ever picked up from the store day one. It was a direct sequel. Dealing with a battered hero, and faltering Cortana. Their excursion on Halo had taken a lot out of them and they where ailing, but they had a job to do. You see Jon once again reunited with his mother figure Doctor Halsey and how devote she is to her ideals, you see the deeper darker secrets of humanity, and how even at the brink of extinction they still vie for power. You see Masterchief, do what he does best and survive. You get the point that with all the heroes sacrificing themselves for the cause, there will surely be none left for the impending Covenant onslaught. Finally It introduced new characters and got the ball rolling for the overarching stories of the next two sequels.

I also got really involved into Halo, with http://ilovebees.com/index.html , and eerie but infectious alternate reality game, making you feel like what is going on in these books in these games is your future, is real. I also got into the deep lore, Bible references, numerology, mythology. The parallels where staggering.

Flawed Legacy

The biggest problem with being a creative mind, is that when you expect something you either are blown away or it tends not to live up with the world you made in your own head. Halo 2 fell into the later, and unfortunately as I began to grow older, I learned many things did. Halo 2's first hour was everything I wanted it to be, but it quickly faded. Especially when I ran into what looked like Seymore. To be completely fair, I was blinded by the hype I created for the game. I replayed it and tried to see it for what it was, and to be honest I liked it a lot more. It wasn't the epic I had wanted it to be, but an epic none the less. During this time I started to heavily into the competitive side of Halo, and started competing in tournaments with Nick. Our first couple of tournaments we fell flat on our face, but we quickly became the best Wisconsin had to offer. I met awesome people and became closer with the friends I did have, friends that I would have for the rest of my life, and through them I met more amazing people. It was weird how something bound us all together, yet it wasn't always in the front of our minds. This trend continued well into and past Halo 3: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MsiKUmyL_hY (When I saw this I hung up on my now ex-girlfriend out of pure giddiness) My reception of Halo 3 was much the same as Halo 2's. It was amazing but not quiet what I would have imagined. The ending told of the apparent death of Masterchief as he floats around in deep space, asleep in his hushed casket once more. The halo trilogy had come full circle. I honestly choked up. This would be the last game with Masterchief, or at least so I thought.

Enough Dead Heroes

Bungie would eventually release two more Halo games, and like the previous games I bought them all at midnight. They where of course void of the Masterchief but that was certainly for the best. The stories where a lot more personal. You felt for the characters, as the ODST team trudged through New Mombasa unraveling the mysteries hidden by both man and alien. You grieved for your comrades of Noble 6 each died one by one to protect their home, and deliver a package; an A.I. by the name of Cortana, with vital info on how to stop the Covenant. A great plot twist to finally know she jumped to Halo on purpose, not just wild speculation. The multiplayer while still fun, I seemed to just not care about as much. Maybe because I'm getting older, maybe because it's just getting stale. But, I'm bored with it. On the other hand I was watching this years e3 Microsoft conference like I do every year, and I saw this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9iQiHNXgMU. I got that little feeling back. What will John be put through next. How much more can he handle? Will this story reflect that? Or will be has immortal as the tales told of ancient Spartans his namesake holds.

Sometimes

Sometimes you don't make the best decisions of your life. You don't sit there and contemplate for hours, and if you do, it doesn't matter because it happens anyway. Sometimes after all the over thinking you do, all the countless scenarios that play out it your head, none of it matters. Sometimes life simply happens, and Sometimes it's great.

Muse

My muse, my inspiration, my mind. It eludes me, yet controls me, I close my eyes and can sail on the waves of my imagination. There are day's where my muse comes with gifts of finite, tangible thoughts. Days where I can take my words and craft a story, one with meaning, with a purpose. Then, there are days like today. Where it hovers on the outskirts of my mind, teasing me with it's power to grant beautiful, precious images; setting sky's, sprawling cityscapes, rundown alleys, broken towns. The ability to jump into people minds, to turn my empathy towards man; into full blown images of them. Their imperfections all intact. It teases me with these great things but it never crosses that bridge, it never leaps that chasm, never climbs above the great icy wall into reality. It teases me, shows me potential, throws coal into the engines of mind, then slowly fades away, alluding me to believe it is of course, female. She must know I love things the most that I can't have; making the moments where I finally get to grasp her, throwing my thoughts onto a blank canvas and making a reality all the sweeter.