500 Words on Isolationism

500 Words on Isolationism — Blue Ink Alchemy

The balance between work and life has yet to be fully struck. I'm still only a few weeks into the gig, and though I'm more comfortable being where I am and working alongside a dedicated, energetic, generous, and honest gentleman, the commute still drains me and the work presents new challenges to my logical skills and memory retention every day. If I can succeed more than I fail, even in small ways, at a rate over 50%, I'll be okay. It's hard to gauge, at times. When I'm not at work, I try to take care of myself, and sometimes, that means tuning out the world. I haven't always been good at being comfortable in the space I occupy. When I was crashing on couches and bouncing between hosts, I always felt out of place. It was hard to feel like I belonged anywhere. I had very little space to be myself, work on myself, put my best self forward. And I suffered for it. Now, things are better. I have space that's mine (mostly). I can have true seclusion, shut everything out, disappear for a while. It's lovely. At times in this current world, though, it feels selfish. I know that we can't afford to isolate ourselves, to exist merely within our own echo chambers. We must reach out, be connected, stand together. That's what it means to be a part of the Resistance. We are stronger together, when we cross lines of race and gender and identity and background, when we give one another the benefit of the doubt, when we imagine one another complexly. That means staying current. That means exposing myself to the onslaught of flagrant stupidity and arrogant presumption of those trying to control our world. That means looking at smug faces of the Patriarchy's cronies, and resisting the urge to punch the screen. And all the while, my lovely head weasels push back on my forward progress. I'm working as hard and as well as I can. And that's valued and appreciated, at home as well as at work. I'm doing more, feeling more, saying more, and slowly, hurting less. I do think about people and parts of my heart I've lost every day, but I can work past it in ways that are forward progress, not dwelling in the past or muddling up the moment. This is all good. This is all better than I was. And yet, I struggle to recognize it in myself. My learned behaviors of talking myself down for fear of buying my own hype keep me from building myself up. Getting past that means being out in the world. Being my best self in the world. And not hiding myself away where none can see my light. I have to take care of myself, be gentle with myself, keep getting better. The people who love me, who actually care, want that. But I also have to be a part of this world, because I can help keep it together. On Fridays I write 500 words.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Not The Same

Not The Same — Blue Ink Alchemy

While finding my groove with the new gig, and making plans to return more prominently to the Internet, I've been reconnecting with some of the music of my younger years. I've always loved Dave Grohl and his bands, especially the Foo Fighters — hence the pin I wear on my overcoat, right next to my Safety Pin and under "America Is Not The World." Partnering with an audiophile and general music wyzard has brought Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Nirvana, and Audioslave back into my life in a big way (also, you know, Seattle), and has introduced me to Big Wreck. Assembling a station on Pandora — which you can listen to here — has also reminded me of one of the seminal yet forgotten bands of my youth: Days of the New. At the time, I was a bit less fully self-aware, and Days of the New was good stuff, but not quite in the same vein as Creed or Evanescence. While bands of that ilk have faded as my tastes and perceptions have grown and expanded, Days of the New comes back and strikes resonating chords. The vocals of Travis Meeks sit very comfortably in my range, which is always a plus, But the lyrics are what hitting those strings within me. There's something simplistic about it, something raw and real, unfettered by artifice or hyperbole. One song that keeps coming up is "Not The Same", and... well, duh. If you know me at all, if you've been paying attention, it should be obvious that I'm not the same. Sure, at this time last year I was trying to be more self-aware, more constructive, more this version of myself, but there was a piece missing. I wasn't motivated to do it solely for my own good. I was doing it, if I'm honest, for the benefit of others. Oddly enough, it was the behavior of others that made this clear, and I once again had to change. There's some sentiment out there that talks about not changing who you are. Songs have been written about it. About not letting the world or other people change you. And there's some truth to that. However, if I hadn't taken it upon myself to change myself, I would not be where I am now. And, as a direct result of these efforts, I am not the same. Two years ago I was blinded by various distractions, misconceptions, perceptions, and unacknowledged fears and issues. That left me open to be blindsided by drama and truths that had to be addressed. It kept me from being honest. Last year I was broken, trying to put myself back together, and overly reliant on others to help me do it. That left me open to be exploited and, subsequently, discarded; to be tossed about with my hands off of the wheel until the shifting winds and waves threw me out to sink or swim, with little in terms of a lifeline in sight. It kept me from acknowledging and cultivating my own strength and worth. This year? This year, I am not the same. And anybody who thinks I am is a fucking idiot. I was asked the other day who I'm writing this sort of thing for. If I'm directing this rhetoric at individuals in particular, in some misguided hope I can change others. The truth is, if someone sees this, and as a result sees me differently, that's great! I won't deny that I maintain a glimmer of hope that being this vocal and this open and this persistent in telling my side of the story can put in stark relief the selfish wants and callous gaslighting of others. But when you get right down to it, I'm telling my story because I'm sick and tired of holding my tongue when it comes to driving my own narrative. I'm taking the pen back from others who've held it. Around this time last year, I put out some kind of weak-ass bullshit about "hey, it's okay if you need to see me as a villain, that's fine, if it helps you heal I'm all for it" and so on and so forth. Fuck that. I'm not the same. I refuse to let myself fall back into those old patterns, those useless ways of thinking. And if some trifling, myopic people want to try and write me into a corner where that is all I do, it's in my best interest as a human being capable of change and worthy of love and respect to snatch the pen from their hands and say "No. You do not get to dehumanize me in this way. Look to your own life and the ways you can make it better without making the lives around you worse." It isn't easy. I still struggle with things. I can have a learned behavior kick in as a reaction to a situation that's no longer relevant, or as a habit that I need to change. And while the results of such things are not okay, the fact that I want to change these things is okay. It's better than okay. It's what defines someone who is doing their utmost to act like a gorram adult. I'm not the same. Thank every single star in the sky for that. Tuesdays are for telling my story. Seriously, fuck off with your weak-ass bullshit, you bunch of trifling-ass bitches.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Not The Same

Not The Same — Blue Ink Alchemy

While finding my groove with the new gig, and making plans to return more prominently to the Internet, I've been reconnecting with some of the music of my younger years. I've always loved Dave Grohl and his bands, especially the Foo Fighters — hence the pin I wear on my overcoat, right next to my Safety Pin and under "America Is Not The World." Partnering with an audiophile and general music wyzard has brought Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Nirvana, and Audioslave back into my life in a big way (also, you know, Seattle), and has introduced me to Big Wreck. Assembling a station on Pandora — which you can listen to here — has also reminded me of one of the seminal yet forgotten bands of my youth: Days of the New. At the time, I was a bit less fully self-aware, and Days of the New was good stuff, but not quite in the same vein as Creed or Evanescence. While bands of that ilk have faded as my tastes and perceptions have grown and expanded, Days of the New comes back and strikes resonating chords. The vocals of Travis Meeks sit very comfortably in my range, which is always a plus, But the lyrics are what hitting those strings within me. There's something simplistic about it, something raw and real, unfettered by artifice or hyperbole. One song that keeps coming up is "Not The Same", and... well, duh. If you know me at all, if you've been paying attention, it should be obvious that I'm not the same. Sure, at this time last year I was trying to be more self-aware, more constructive, more this version of myself, but there was a piece missing. I wasn't motivated to do it solely for my own good. I was doing it, if I'm honest, for the benefit of others. Oddly enough, it was the behavior of others that made this clear, and I once again had to change. There's some sentiment out there that talks about not changing who you are. Songs have been written about it. About not letting the world or other people change you. And there's some truth to that. However, if I hadn't taken it upon myself to change myself, I would not be where I am now. And, as a direct result of these efforts, I am not the same. Two years ago I was blinded by various distractions, misconceptions, perceptions, and unacknowledged fears and issues. That left me open to be blindsided by drama and truths that had to be addressed. It kept me from being honest. Last year I was broken, trying to put myself back together, and overly reliant on others to help me do it. That left me open to be exploited and, subsequently, discarded; to be tossed about with my hands off of the wheel until the shifting winds and waves threw me out to sink or swim, with little in terms of a lifeline in sight. It kept me from acknowledging and cultivating my own strength and worth. This year? This year, I am not the same. And anybody who thinks I am is a fucking idiot. I was asked the other day who I'm writing this sort of thing for. If I'm directing this rhetoric at individuals in particular, in some misguided hope I can change others. The truth is, if someone sees this, and as a result sees me differently, that's great! I won't deny that I maintain a glimmer of hope that being this vocal and this open and this persistent in telling my side of the story can put in stark relief the selfish wants and callous gaslighting of others. But when you get right down to it, I'm telling my story because I'm sick and tired of holding my tongue when it comes to driving my own narrative. I'm taking the pen back from others who've held it. Around this time last year, I put out some kind of weak-ass bullshit about "hey, it's okay if you need to see me as a villain, that's fine, if it helps you heal I'm all for it" and so on and so forth. Fuck that. I'm not the same. I refuse to let myself fall back into those old patterns, those useless ways of thinking. And if some trifling, myopic people want to try and write me into a corner where that is all I do, it's in my best interest as a human being capable of change and worthy of love and respect to snatch the pen from their hands and say "No. You do not get to dehumanize me in this way. Look to your own life and the ways you can make it better without making the lives around you worse." It isn't easy. I still struggle with things. I can have a learned behavior kick in as a reaction to a situation that's no longer relevant, or as a habit that I need to change. And while the results of such things are not okay, the fact that I want to change these things is okay. It's better than okay. It's what defines someone who is doing their utmost to act like a gorram adult. I'm not the same. Thank every single star in the sky for that. Tuesdays are for telling my story. Seriously, fuck off with your weak-ass bullshit, you bunch of trifling-ass bitches.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

500 Words On Failure Rate

500 Words On Failure Rate — Blue Ink Alchemy

It might seem to the outside observer, who only keeps track of me through this blog — and I do believe there are a few — that the last couple weeks have seen me sitting around doing nothing but play Star Trek Online (which I do every night, no YOU'RE the one with the problem) and eat vegan bonbons. The thing is, though, I've been very busy. I have a new dayjob that includes a hellish daily commute, which is a problem that will solve itself once I can telecommute, and my drastically increased income has brought along with it a greater proportion of my home life's responsibilities, the combination of which occupies the bulk of my time. While I do carve out time for writing, thinking about writing, and doing research for writing, there's an unseen factor that some may not take into consideration: many of my projects fail before they even see the end of a first draft. It's not just because I'm a bit of a perfectionist, and also a bit of a magpie in terms of attention span. There's also the fact that I can start a project, get well into it, then realize that it's a bad idea. I set out towards a goal and get lost along the way. I end up in a bad place. I look back upon my work and say to myself "I am not a clever man." This is an over-simplification, of course. Having the wherewithal to exercise self-awareness to the point of realizing the flaws in one's own work indicates a base level of cleverness. But I digress. This failure rate is due in part to ill-defined scope — I have an idea and can visualize key moments but there's no connective tissue or narrative flow — and an over-abundance of self-interest — characters and situations that resonate too much with people and events from the real world. While we write what we know, to write based on experiences to the point that direct parallels can be drawn feels, to me, a bit self-indulgent. It's cathartic, sure, but not everybody is interested in seeing me work out my problems in publicly available prose. So, into the bin it goes. Either I turn to a new page in my writing notebook, or I leave the draft to sit incomplete and ignored somewhere on the cloud before I eventually mine it for ideas in a better story, or just delete it entirely. This can also happen mid-project: there's a reason I haven't recorded a vlog in a while. The format wasn't great and my delivery needed tons of work. I also wasn't terribly confident and, as mentioned above, a little self-indulgent. Not my cleverest work. Still, you can't get a gem without hacking it out of rock. Alchemy happens with fire, patience, and destruction of imperfections. You have to dice your veggies before you add them to the scramble. So on and so forth. I'm still here, still working, still being awesome. Despite my failures. On Fridays I write 500 words.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

500 Words On Failure Rate

500 Words On Failure Rate — Blue Ink Alchemy

It might seem to the outside observer, who only keeps track of me through this blog (and I do believe there are a few) that the last couple weeks have seen me sitting around doing nothing but play Star Trek Online (which I do every night, no YOU'RE the one with the problem) and eat vegan bonbons. The thing is, though, I've been very busy. I have a new dayjob that includes a hellish daily commute, which is a problem that will solve itself once I can telecommute, and my drastically increased income has brought along with it a greater proportion of my home life's responsibilities, the combination of which occupies the bulk of my time. While I do carve out time for writing, thinking about writing, and doing research for writing, there's an unseen factor that some may not take into consideration: many of my projects fail before they even see the end of a first draft. It's not just because I'm a bit of a perfectionist, and also a bit of a magpie in terms of attention span. There's also the fact that I can start a project, get well into it, then realize that it's a bad idea. I set out towards a goal and get lost along the way. I end up in a bad place. I look back upon my work and say to myself "I am not a clever man." This is an over-simplification, of course. Having the wherewithal to exercise self-awareness to the point of realizing the flaws in ones own work indicates a base level of cleverness. But I digress. This failure rate is due in part to ill-defined scope — I have an idea and can visualize key moments but there's no connective tissue or narrative flow — and an over-abundance of self-interest — characters and situations that resonate too much with people and events from the real world. While we write what we know, to write based on experiences to the point that direct parallels can be drawn feels, to me, a bit self-indulgent. It's cathartic, sure, but not everybody is interested in seeing me work out my problems in publicly available prose. So, into the bin it goes. Either I turn to a new page in my writing notebook, or I leave the draft to sit incomplete and ignored somewhere on the cloud before I eventually mine it for ideas in a better story, or just delete it entirely. This can also happen mid-project: there's a reason I haven't recorded a vlog in a while. The format wasn't great and my delivery needed tons of work. I also wasn't terribly confident and, as mentioned above, a little self-indulgent. Not my cleverest work. Still, you can't get a gem without hacking it out of rock. Alchemy happens with fire, patience, and destruction of imperfections. You have to dice your veggies before you add them to the scramble. So on and so forth. I'm still here, still working, still being awesome. Despite my failures. On Fridays I write 500 words.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Assassination

Assassination — Blue Ink Alchemy

Assassination is a selfish, cowardly act. Case in point: last night, a rhino was assassinated. The term is usually applied to an individual of prominence, for fame or a political end, but I feel that doesn't encompass the full depravity of the act. Assassination is murder for profit. Plain and simple. And Vince's assassination is a prime example. It was for the ivory in his horn. Nothing more. The rhino didn't do anything wrong. It was just, you know, being a rhino. And that's why it was killed. The assassins plan to profit from this murder. Ivory sells well on the black market. The nature of our capitalist society motivated these people to murder an innocent, unaware creature. Vince died confused and scared and bleeding out. Does that seem right to you? Imagine if the rhino were a person. They were going about their business. Maybe worrying about bills, or looking forward to a date, or making plans to find some way to a better future. Gunshot. Snap. Nothing more in this world. The corpse will feed the worms, the murder will feed someone's financial or political greed. Does that seem right to you? Now imagine the person's character being assassinated. Their body lives, but they are assaulted on a social and emotional and mental level. They are called all sorts of names, made out to be someone they're not. The things said and done to them make them question their sanity. Their way forward is suddenly illuminated solely by gaslight. Without help, support, and love, they may go mad. Collapse in on themselves. They might even take their own life just to end the pain and confusion. And all the while, the people who did it to them profit from it. They look better, even righteous, by comparison. They get whatever they want from that person's agony. Some of them might even laugh about it. Does that seem right to you? Superpowers are engaging in assassination on a regular basis. And worse, they're getting more bold and blatant about it. Speak out against the state, get shot in the street. Express a contrary opinion, get reduced to a joke and rendered impotent and metaphorically disemboweled. Try to be the change you want to see in the world, die physically by way of bullet or blade, or die in the eyes of the public by slander and lies. Worse, the systems in place to protect us from this are failing. Like the walls and fences of the zoo in France, the agencies that police malicious activity and are sworn to our safety turn a blind eye to the misery and death that plague the innocent. We're left in the cold while those in power count their coffers and laugh at our pain. To paraphrase Rachel Maddow, it's becoming apparent that we have to take care of ourselves. We have to be loud. We have to stand up for ourselves, and for one another. We have to fight back against the forces that would slay and disempower and belittle and rape us. We have to say "NOT THIS TIME" as clearly as possible. We have to insist on facts, not hearsay, not gossip, not slander, facts. And we have to do it every day, every hour if we have to. The media has tried to romanticize assassins. Games, movies, other media; they like to portray and exemplify the righteous killer. But the truly righteous thing is not to fire the bullet. It is to take that bullet for someone who'd otherwise die. Because if we do not put ourselves in the line of fire, nobody will be left to do the same for us. I, for one, would rather choose to work hard and even suffer in order to secure a better future for the good of all the people around me, than be made to suffer for the selfish benefit of one short-sighted person. I'm tired of living in fear. I'm tired of jumping at my own shadow. I'm tired of seeing wounds nobody else can see. But I'm not done fighting. And I won't be for as long as I'm still alive. Wednesdays I wonder at the world in which we live.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Seriously, DFTBA

Seriously, DFTBA — Blue Ink Alchemy

I am not composed of cells and tissue. I am composed entirely of awesome. So are you, provided you haven't forgotten that fact. It's an easy thing to forget, really. We live in a sad, fettered world that's all about the gains and advantages, the one-upmanship and quick victories, the lionization of the false self-image at the expense of demonizing the other, among other poison of the patriarchy, and all of the other things that makes people like Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin into 'world leaders'. And when that world is coming at you in all sorts of forms, from the latest round of bad news from across the globe to someone close to you buying into nonsensical gossip that completely ignores facts, suddenly, we forget to be awesome. Our viewpoints get skewed away from making the world around us better, and towards more self-centered goals. When I see it happening, I tend to get angry. Because we are capable of being so much better than that. I take a lot of stress on myself in trying to understand the positions others are in when they say or do certain things. This is especially true if I have some personal knowledge of or experience with a given person. "So-and-so has said and done X in the past; why are they acting in this contrary way now?" The answer is never simple; you can't cut a complex individual with Occam's Razor. First of all, cutting people in general is cruel and downright rude (unless there's some sort of consensual act occurring, in which case, please have some antiseptic handy, and check in with your partner often). Moreover, if we want to be imagined complexly, and not merely reduced to a caricature of our inborn traits or the perception of our rumored outward showings, we must imagine others complexly as well. That's been my philosophy for a long time. And in spite of everything that's happened to me, I refuse to change it. One thing I've really struggled to integrate into that philosophy is the cold fact that not everyone will appreciate my efforts, or even acknowledge them. Because this thing I do where I treat others the way I want to be treated means I don't always assert myself or leave room for myself to be myself. That tends to give others the implicit permission to treat me in a reductive fashion — to take advantage of me, use me, in some cases abuse me, and in others, discard me like a broken thing that no longer serves a particular purpose. You see, being reductive is easy. It requires less thought, less time, and less consideration of others. A particular person may be more interested in furthering a personal agenda; they might distance themselves from a perceived threat, be it a threat of person — "this is someone who could hurt me" — or a threat of position, i.e. "this person could make me look/feel foolish/ineffectual". They might even get triggered by the hint of past trauma, or are too indoctrinated into a particular zeitgeist. In all of these cases, reductive perception is the quick way to resolve a situation. You get to keep your place in the groupthink, you have an easily influenced bunch of cohorts at your beck and call, and you can paint your perceived enemies with the same, broad brush. Simple! Easy! I may be hard-wired to make things harder than they have to be for myself (more on that later), but I will be damned if I take the easy way out in this regard. Come to think of it, I already have been, if you ask some folks. They're not bad people, though. They're not evil villains out to destroy people like me. They've just forgotten to be awesome. Being awesome isn't about winning. It isn't about getting what or who you want. It isn't about always getting your way. Your victories do not make you awesome. Your friends do not make you awesome. Your game collection, your bank account, your liquor cabinet, your list of potential booty calls, your Instagram — none of that, in and of itself, makes you awesome. You know what makes you awesome? Asking hard questions to get the facts. Making hard choices to make the world suck less for a stranger. Standing up for people who aren't able to do so. Getting out of your own way enough to make room for others who are getting held back. Seeing something inside of yourself that needs to change, and no matter what, changing it. Doing things for yourself that are positive, happy, progressive, and constructive, of your own volition, with your own permission, that do not hurt others, and that stoke your own fires. Occupying the space you occupy without being afraid that you don't deserve to occupy it. Being yourself and owning what that means, even if it means you're going to make mistakes, because like it or else, you're merely a human being. But doing that stuff I just rattled off means you are the most awesome human being you can possibly be. Try not to forget to do that today. And if you do, that's okay. Don't forget the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. The world needs you to be awesome. So be the awesome you want to see in the world. Tuesdays are for telling my story.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Seriously, DFTBA

Seriously, DFTBA — Blue Ink Alchemy

I am not composed of cells and tissue. I am composed entirely of awesome. So are you, provided you haven't forgotten that fact. It's an easy thing to forget, really. We live in a sad, fettered world that's all about the gains and advantages, the one-upmanship and quick victories, the lionization of the false self-image at the expense of demonizing the other, among other poison of the patriarchy, and all of the other things that makes people like Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin into 'world leaders'. And when that world is coming at you in all sorts of forms, from the latest round of bad news from across the globe to someone close to you buying into nonsensical gossip that completely ignores facts, suddenly, we forget to be awesome. Our viewpoints get skewed away from making the world around us better, and towards more self-centered goals. When I see it happening, I tend to get angry. Because we are capable of being so much better than that. I take a lot of stress on myself in trying to understand the positions others are in when they say or do certain things. This is especially true if I have some personal knowledge of or experience with a given person. "So-and-so has said and done X in the past; why are they acting in this contrary way now?" The answer is never simple; you can't cut a complex individual with Occam's Razor. First of all, cutting people in general is cruel and downright rude (unless there's some sort of consensual act occurring, in which case, please have some antiseptic handy, and check in with your partner often). Moreover, if we want to be imagined complexly, and not merely reduced to a caricature of our inborn traits or the perception of our rumored outward showings, we must imagine others complexly as well. That's been my philosophy for a long time. And in spite of everything that's happened to me, I refuse to change it. One thing I've really struggled to integrate into that philosophy is the cold fact that not everyone will appreciate my efforts, or even acknowledge them. Because this thing I do where I treat others the way I want to be treated means I don't always assert myself or leave room for myself to be myself. That tends to give others the implicit permission to treat me in a reductive fashion — to take advantage of me, use me, in some cases abuse me, and in others, discard me like a broken thing that no longer serves a particular purpose. You see, being reductive is easy. It requires less thought, less time, and less consideration of others. If a particular person is more interested in furthering a personal agenda, distancing themselves from a perceived threat (be it a threat of person — "this is someone who could hurt me" — or a threat of position, i.e. "this person could make me look/feel foolish/ineffectual"), gets triggered by the hint of past trauma, or is too indoctrinated into a particular zeitgeist, reductive perception is the quick way to resolve a situation. You get to keep your place in the groupthink, you have an easy to influence bunch of cohorts at your beck and call, and you can paint your perceived enemies with the same, broad brush. Simple! Easy! I may be hard-wired to make things harder than they have to be for myself (more on that later), but I will be damned if I take the easy way out in this regard. Come to think of it, I already have been, if you ask some folks. They're not bad people, though. They're not evil villains out to destroy people like me. They've just forgotten to be awesome. Being awesome isn't about winning. It isn't about getting what or who you want. It isn't about always getting your way. Your victories do not make you awesome. Your friends do not make you awesome. Your game collection, your bank account, your liquor cabinet, your list of potential booty calls, your Instagram — none of that, in and of itself, makes you awesome. You know what makes you awesome? Asking hard questions to get the facts. Making hard choices to make the world suck less for a stranger. Standing up for people who aren't able to do so. Getting out of your own way enough to make room for others who are getting held back. Seeing something inside of yourself that needs to change, and no matter what, changing it. Doing things for yourself that are positive, happy, progressive, and constructive, of your own volition, with your own permission, that do not hurt others, and that stoke your own fires. Occupying the space you occupy without being afraid that you don't deserve to occupy it. Being yourself and owning what that means, even if it means you're going to make mistakes, because like it or else, you're merely a human being. But doing that stuff I just rattled off means you are the most awesome human being you can possibly be. Try not to forget to do that today. And if you do, that's okay. Don't forget the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. The world needs you to be awesome. So be the awesome you want to see in the world. Tuesdays are for telling my story.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Seriously, DFTBA

Seriously, DFTBA — Blue Ink Alchemy

I am not composed of cells and tissue. I am composed entirely of awesome. So are you, provided you haven't forgotten that fact. It's an easy thing to forget, really. We live in a sad, fettered world that's all about the gains and advantages, the one-upmanship and quick victories, the lionization of the false self-image at the expense of demonizing the other, among other poison of the patriarchy, and all of the other things that makes people like Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin into 'world leaders'. And when that world is coming at you in all sorts of forms, from the latest round of bad news from across the globe to someone close to you buying into nonsensical gossip that completely ignores facts, suddenly, we forget to be awesome. Our viewpoints get skewed away from making the world around us better, and towards more self-centered goals. When I see it happening, I tend to get angry. Because we are capable of being so much better than that. I take a lot of stress on myself in trying to understand the positions others are in when they say or do certain things. This is especially true if I have some personal knowledge of or experience with a given person. "So-and-so has said and done X in the past; why are they acting in this contrary way now?" The answer is never simple; you can't cut a complex individual with Occam's Razor. First of all, cutting people in general is cruel and downright rude (unless there's some sort of consensual act occurring, in which case, please have some antiseptic handy, and check in with your partner often). Moreover, if we want to be imagined complexly, and not merely reduced to a caricature of our inborn traits or the perception of our rumored outward showings, we must imagine others complexly as well. That's been my philosophy for a long time. And in spite of everything that's happened to me, I refuse to change it. One thing I've really struggled to integrate into that philosophy is the cold fact that not everyone will appreciate my efforts, or even acknowledge them. Because this thing I do where I treat others the way I want to be treated means I don't always assert myself or leave room for myself to be myself. That tends to give others the implicit permission to treat me in a reductive fashion — to take advantage of me, use me, in some cases abuse me, and in others, discard me like a broken thing that no longer serves a particular purpose. You see, being reductive is easy. It requires less thought, less time, and less consideration of others. If a particular person is more interested in furthering a personal agenda, distancing themselves from a perceived threat (be it a threat of person — "this is someone who could hurt me" — or a threat of position, i.e. "this person could make me look/feel foolish/ineffectual"), gets triggered by the hint of past trauma, or is too indoctrinated into a particular zeitgeist, reductive perception is the quick way to resolve a situation. You get to keep your place in the groupthink, you have an easy to influence and rally group of allies, and you can paint your perceived enemies with the same, broad brush. Simple! Easy! I may be hard-wired to make things harder than they have to be for myself (more on that later), but I will be damned if I take the easy way out in this regard. Come to think of it, I already have been, if you ask some folks. They're not bad people, though. They're not evil villains out to destroy people like me. They've just forgotten to be awesome. Being awesome isn't about winning. It isn't about getting what or who you want. It isn't about always getting your way. Your victories do not make you awesome. Your friends do not make you awesome. Your game collection, your bank account, your liquor cabinet, your list of potential booty calls, your Instagram — none of that, in and of itself, makes you awesome. You know what makes you awesome? Asking hard questions to get the facts. Making hard choices to make the world suck less for a stranger. Standing up for people who aren't able to do so. Getting out of your own way enough to make room for others who are getting held back. Seeing something inside of yourself that needs to change, and no matter what, changing it. Doing things for yourself that are positive, happy, progressive, and constructive, of your own volition, with your own permission, that do not hurt others, and that stoke your own fires. Occupying the space you occupy without being afraid that you don't deserve to occupy it. Being yourself and owning what that means, even if it means you're going to make mistakes, because like it or else, you're merely a human being. But doing that stuff I just rattled off means you are the most awesome human being you can possibly be. Try not to forget to do that today. And if you do, that's okay. Don't forget the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. The world needs you to be awesome. So be the awesome you want to see in the world. Tuesdays are for telling my story.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Seriously, DFTBA

Seriously, DFTBA — Blue Ink Alchemy

I am not composed of cells and tissue. I am composed entirely of awesome. So are you, provided you haven't forgotten that fact. It's an easy thing to forget, really. We live in a sad, fettered world that's all about the gains and advantages, the one-upmanship and quick victories, the lionization of the false self-image at the expense of demonizing the other, among other poison of the patriarchy, and all of the other things that makes people like Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin into 'world leaders'. And when that world is coming at you in all sorts of forms, from the latest round of bad news from across the globe to someone close to you buying into nonsensical gossip that completely ignores facts, suddenly, we forget to be awesome. Our viewpoints get skewed away from making the world around us better, and towards more self-centered goals. When I see it happening, I tend to get angry. Because we are capable of being so much better than that. I take a lot of stress on myself in trying to understand the positions others are in when they say or do certain things. This is especially true if I have some personal knowledge of or experience with a given person. "So-and-so has said and done X in the past; why are they acting in this contrary way now?" The answer is never simple; you can't cut a complex individual with Occam's Razor. First of all, cutting people in general is cruel and downright rude (unless there's some sort of consensual act occurring, in which case, please have some antiseptic handy, and check in with your partner often). Moreover, if we want to be imagined complexly, and not merely reduced to a caricature of our inborn traits or the perception of our rumored outward showings, we must imagine others complexly as well. That's been my philosophy for a long time. And in spite of everything that's happened to me, I refuse to change it. One thing I've really struggled to integrate into that philosophy is the cold fact that not everyone will appreciate my efforts, or even acknowledge them. Because this thing I do where I treat others the way I want to be treated means I don't always assert myself or leave room for myself to be myself. That tends to give others the implicit permission to treat me in a reductive fashion — to take advantage of me, use me, in some cases abuse me, and in others, discard me like a broken thing that no longer serves a particular purpose. You see, being reductive is easy. It requires less thought, less time, and less consideration of others. If a particular person is more interested in furthering a personal agenda, distancing themselves from a perceived threat (be it a threat of person or a threat of position), gets triggered by the hint of past trauma, or is too indoctrinated into a particular zeitgeist, reductive perception is the quick way to resolve a situation. You get to keep your place in the groupthink, you have an easy to influence and rally group of allies, and you can paint your perceived enemies with the same, broad brush. Simple! Easy! I may be hard-wired to make things harder than they have to be for myself (more on that later), but I will be damned if I take the easy way out in this regard. Come to think of it, I already have been, if you ask some folks. They're not bad people, though. They're not evil villains out to destroy people like me. They've just forgotten to be awesome. Being awesome isn't about winning. It isn't about getting what or who you want. It isn't about always getting your way. Your victories do not make you awesome. Your friends do not make you awesome. Your game collection, your bank account, your liquor cabinet, your list of potential booty calls, your Instagram — none of that, in and of itself, makes you awesome. You know what makes you awesome? Asking hard questions to get the facts. Making hard choices to make the world suck less for a stranger. Standing up for people who aren't able to do so. Getting out of your own way enough to make room for others who are getting held back. Seeing something inside of yourself that needs to change, and no matter what, changing it. Doing things for yourself that are positive, happy, progressive, and constructive, of your own volition, with your own permission, that do not hurt others, and that stoke your own fires. Occupying the space you occupy without being afraid that you don't deserve to occupy it. Being yourself and owning what that means, even if it means you're going to make mistakes, because like it or else, you're merely a human being. But doing that stuff I just rattled off means you are the most awesome human being you can possibly be. Try not to forget to do that today. And if you do, that's okay. Don't forget the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. The world needs you to be awesome. So be the awesome you want to see in the world. Tuesdays are for telling my story.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Reignition, Part 2

Reignition, Part 2 — Blue Ink Alchemy

Art courtesy Xoaba [spoiler effect="blind" show="Disclaimer" hide="Close"] The following is a non-profit work of fan-fiction. Magic: the Gathering and its attendant characters, locations, terminology, and events are owned by Wizards of the Coast, Richard Garfield, Mark Rosewater, et al. All rights reserved. Please support the official release.

---

[/spoiler] Previously... Dominarian taverns always felt like home, moreso than just about anywhere else. Save maybe its crypts. She stepped through the doors, glancing around and stretching out her senses. A Planeswalker never truly lost their connection to home, even if something horrible happened to it. Nissa's crisis on Zendikar and Chandra's on Kaladesh were prime examples. Her manor might be located on Innistrad, but she wasn't about to act like Sorin Markov and just... ignore a problem on the plane of her birth. It would definitely be nice if nothing like that happened here. And if she could avoid the attention of that accursed Raven Man or any of a number of demons, that'd be even better. Hence borrowing one of Jace's spare cloaks — he had a closet full of the things, surely he wouldn't mind the loan, even if she'd taken it without permission. It looked better on her, anyway. This one was enchanted to conceal the wearer from passing notice. He'd crafted it after he failed to sneak around Innistrad. Not that such precautions were necessary in the current setting. This tavern was particularly raucous and chaotic. The infamous Festival of Estark was right around the corner, and many of the commoners were caught up in the excitement and preparing for the event with drink and the occasional friendly (or not-so-friendly) brawl. She kept her hood up as she navigated the loud and somewhat smelly interior of the tavern. It was a modest affair, a waystation and inn about halfway between Kush and Barbar, which partially explained the shouting. On the floor in each of the tavern's four corners were circles laid out in brass, laid into the wood and measuring about a two meters in diameter. They were meant to contain the spells of the fighter-mages of Kush's Houses who tested their skills and fought for cash. Three of the circles were occupied in such contests. One had a mage in brown pitching a group of gibbering goblins against their gray-clad opponent's swarm of plague-ridden rats. In the opposite corner, a mage in turquoise watched as a squad of spear-wielding pixies probed the floating spirits of a patient-looking mage wearing orange. The last circle was being paced by a short man in a ragged coat, who alternated between calling the action to the raucous onlookers and shilling for bets, and admonishing the young turquoise mage, who was locked in a battle of wills with a purple fighter three times his senior. Liliana opted against joining any of the circle crowds, and instead made for the bar. Sitting apart from everyone else, nursing a mug of ale, was a tall man in a half-cloak, its edge embroidered with subtle swirls of metal thread. He didn't radiate power as much as quietly seethe with it, and that alone made him worth her attention. Perhaps he was what had tickled her instincts across the planes. She perched on the stool beside him, carefully not drawing attention as the barkeep approached. "Care for a drink, miss?" The man behind the bar was amiable, and his breath didn't stink too much. A minor miracle, that. "Wine, if you have any," she replied. The bartender looked a bit puzzled, then dropped out of sight to begin rummaging through bottles. He eventually produced a dark bottle covered in a fine layer of dust. He dug up a glass after some loud rummaging, and wiped it clean with the corner of his apron. The bottle's label depicted an armored warrior in Estark's iconic Arena doing battle what some sort of wyvern or dragon whelp. She picked up the bottle, frowning at the gaucheness of the spectacle in general and this bottle in particular, and poured. At least it didn't taste too terrible. Having paid for her seat, she turned her senses to the man next to her. Following the scent of mana to this location hadn't been difficult — it was removed enough from the common folk that the House fighter-mages could practice their skills in relative anonymity against members of other Houses. But this man, far from the revelry, was the most likely source of what she'd felt way out in Ravnica. Along with the inscrutable and unwelcome dread that twisted in her stomach. Her perception brushed up against her neighbor's soul the way a teasing dancer would brush silk against a handsome member of their audience. What are you all about, handsome? His response, metaphorically, was grabbing her wrist and staring into her eyes. A chill ran down her spine and she broke contact as his head turned her way. A single eye burned under his brow, the other concealed by a dark patch, decorated with subtle swirls of embroidery that matched those of his half cloak. Liliana knew containment enchantments when she saw them. He wasn't just hiding something. He was holding something back. "Who are you, and why are you here?" His voice was quiet, crackling with power, tinged with weariness. She rested her chin on one hand, the glass of wine in the other. "My name is Liliana Vess. And I'm here because I'm like you — powerful and misunderstood." His mouth twitched. "I highly doubt we're anything alike." A smile touched at her lips. "Best way to find out is to get to know one another." She crossed her legs, letting the slit of her skirt spread towards the floor. It barely got a glance from the man. Liliana had to fight down a disappointed pout. Jace is more fun. "I'm not in the mood for this sort of thing. Get to the point." The pout emerged like a ghoul from the shadows. "You really know how to take the wind out of a girl's sails." His eye closed and he took a deep breath. "Miss Vess, I don't mean any disrespect. I am simply trying to keep to myself and drink. I wanted to avoid attention. Which is why I came here." "Oh, I understand that entirely." She took a sip of wine. Letting it breathe had helped reduce the bitterness. "I've spent a long time avoiding the attention of some truly heinous beings." She studied his face for a moment. Not unattractive, and the silver shot through his dark hair and featuring especially at his temples made him look distinguished. "You know, when a lady gives you her name, it's customary to give yours." He nodded. "Most would call me Garth." "And what do you call yourself?" "Widowed." Pieces snapped into place in Liliana's head. Her expression did not change. "What was her name?" "Rakel." "She must have been quite a woman, to get through that tough veneer of yours." He said nothing, but drank deeply of his ale. A cry went up from the circle where the battle of wills had been taking place. Garth turned. The young turquoise mage extended a hand to the weary-looking purple man, who shook it. The caller in the raggedy coat gleefully collected bets from the crowd. A ghost of a smile, an expression of pride, flickered across Garth's face. Curiouser and curiouser. What are they to him? Before she could investigate further, the door of the tavern began to shake in its frame. Repeated, strong blows from outside rattled against it. The fighter-mages dismissed their summoned servants as they turned towards what could be a real threat. When the door splintered, the source was revealed: several figures, elves and humans, all bearing various metals in their skins that looked like infections. Liliana felt the dread in her stomach turn to acidic horror. At least when she took control of servants, they were already dead, mindless and bent to her will since they had none of their own. Jace's cloak must have carried some of his telepathy, because she could feel the torment of these living things pressed into the service of some insidious, cold agenda, bound to a hive-mind of boundless ambition and callous disregard for life. Garth shot to his feet. His jaw twitched. Magic surged within him, a feeling undeniable to the planeswalking necromancer. "Hammen," he snapped. Both the man in the ragged coat and the young turquoise mage moved to join him. Garth flung half of his cloak aside, freeing his right arm, and swept his hand in an arc before him. A circle of protection shimmered into being around them as Liliana drew in her power, light from the scars of her contracts burning to life. At the same time, the other fighter-mages and some of the commoners rushed the intruders. They never stood a chance. Screams of the dying and infected rang through the tavern. Liliana seized the dead with her power as they fell, raising them again to protect her and the others on their side of the tavern from the onslaught. Garth summoned knights and spirits, some resembling elves, others treefolk. The invaders that reached them were rebuffed by Garth's circle, save for a bestial thing that crashed through it undeterred. Before anyone else could act, Garth let out a savage bellow, lashing out with pure power to smash it to the ground, shattering it to pieces. He staggered back, grunting, a hand to his head. That was something Liliana hadn't felt in a while. It was an assault that had lacked Jace's practiced, smug precision or Tamiyo's patient, whimsical aplomb. It had been raw, unfettered psychic might, to a degree that it harmed the user almost as much as the target. She looked down at the circle that was protecting them from the infected elves; none of the humans had made it past the other fighter-mages. This was old magic. Powerful spells unseen in the planes in some time. Who are you? Liliana turned her attention back to the fight at hand, rending the lifeforce from the infected elves, considering it a mercy to end their miserable servitude. No sooner had the last few crumpled to the ground than the whole wall of the tavern was smashed, the support beams barely keeping the roof intact. Some foolish youngster had conjured fire, and it was spreading. By the flickering, dangerous light, Liliana and Garth could make out the sight of a hulking form that had made its explosive entrance. It was a dark, spindly, horrible thing, and as fighter-mages lashed out with damaging spells, they fell away, power disintegrating from their minds. Unable to coordinate their strikes, the horror kept coming, straight for Liliana and Garth. More horrors poured in after it. Liliana felt the dread within her growing to a nearly overwhelming level. The pressure of these things' presence meant there was no time to planeswalk to safety. She raised every single corpse within sight and threw them between the circle and the oncoming horrors. One of them reached for the man in the ragged coat, who cried out as he tried to raise a circle of his own. "Damn it." Garth's jaw could have been set in stone. His neck muscles strained against his skin. His tension was a palpable thing, a bowstring drawn so taut it might snap in two. "Damn it all." He reached up and ripped the patch from his eye. Liliana glanced his way. The eye under the patch was intact, but it was golden with a vertical slit, glowing in the firelight, a start contrast to the dark, natural blue of the other. The skin around the golden eye was covered in scar tissue. A flare of power went out from the very center of the man. A Spark. A bright light in the oncoming darkness. Garth left hand dove into the satchel hanging at his side, pulling out a golden ring. From it hung seven gems. Liliana's appraising eye almost instantly recognized each one — Diamond. Emerald. Jet. Opal. Pearl. Ruby. Sapphire. Her breath caught in her throat. Garth made a fist in his right hand, took a moment to concentrate as the circle of protection collapsed, and looked up at the oncoming horrors bearing down upon them. He made a pushing gesture, his fist opening in an instant, and with a flash of light and a sound like an iron gong, a sphere resembling a full solar eclipse blossomed into being near the ceiling of the room. Pulled towards it, the horrors began to vanish, disintegrating into nothingness, along with the infected invaders, Liliana's zombies, and all of the other summoned servants in the burning tavern. Liliana felt the cold pull of a void between the planes, and staring at the source, fought down a surge of terror. "Run," Garth said. The four of them bolted out of the tavern, which began to crumble into the merciless singularity behind them, consuming flames, wood, corrupted bodies, insidious metal — all things. It even began to pull at those too wounded to move quickly, and the bystanders trying to help them. Garth gestured, and the maw to nowhere snapped shut. He turned to the two other male survivors. "Master," the man in the ragged coat breathed. "You..." "This isn't the time for half-measures or hiding what I am," Garth said, returning the gems to his satchel. Liliana watched carefully — his use of such power had left him almost translucent, as if he'd been pulled towards another plane against his will. Only returning the gems and their power to his satchel kept him on Dominaria. Interesting. Garth continued. "These things may be unknown to me, but it's clear why they came. They came for me, for my experience, for what I paid for in blood so many years ago. Now, as before, I won't let them fall into the wrong hands. I will not let Rakel's sacrifice be in vain." His paused, visibly holding back a tide of emotion. "I need you to take Hammen, and get as far away from me as you can." "But, Father..." "I won't hear it," Garth told the young mage. His expression softened. "You fought bravely, both in the ring and against these creatures, and I'm very proud of you. Your mother would be, too. Now, please. Go with Uncle Hadin." "I... yes, Father." "Master," Hadin repeated. "You swore to her. You swore never to use Kuthuman's powers or treasures again. The cost..." "I didn't take back what he stole from Oor-tael to keep it tucked away when we're under such an attack. Nor did I scour the world for the means of our survival just to die now, in this time." His otherworldly eye flashed dangerously. "This is my home, and I'm going to defend it." "It's mine as well." Liliana pulled down the hood of Jace's cloak. "I was born here. I was made here. And I'm not letting these things turn it into some sort of abomination." Garth smirked, his first expression even approaching mirth since Liliana had met him. "A necromancer talking about abominations in such terms?" Liliana leveled her best withering glare at him. "Let's not get into a competition of hypocrisy. We'll be here all night." "Come on, Hammen," Hadin said with a note of resignation in his voice. "Your father's right. As much as I hate to admit it." He looked up at the tall planeswalker. "I wish I could go with you." Garth laid a hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "I've run from threats like this before, old friend. I helped us all run. But we can only run for so long before what we flee catches up with us. This is worse than anything else we've seen. And I won't have it consume you or the rest of us. I need to find out how it was stopped before, and do the same, to the best of my ability. I hope you can understand that." Hadin nodded. "I can. We'll be safe." The two turned away and Hadin conjured a portal for them to step through. Garth turned to Liliana. "I haven't... walked the planes in quite some time." Liliana smiled. "It's like falling off the world. You never really forget." She looked down at the cloak she'd borrowed. Yes, that was the word. "I have some... allies I'd like you to meet. I think they could help." Garth nodded. "Let's not stay away long. I feel like time is going to run out on us very quickly." "It always does." Mondays are for making or talking about art. Credits: Magic the Gathering copyright Wizards of the Coast. Liliana Vess art courtesy Xoaba. Merciless Eviction art courtesy Richard Wright.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Reignition, Part 3

Reignition, Part 3 — Blue Ink Alchemy

Art courtesy Steve Argyle [spoiler effect="blind" show="Disclaimer" hide="Close"] The following is a non-profit work of fan-fiction. Magic: the Gathering and its attendant characters, locations, terminology, and events are owned by Wizards of the Coast, Richard Garfield, Mark Rosewater, et al. All rights reserved. Please support the official release.

---

[/spoiler] Previously... The darksteel tendrils rattled and growled like living things as the prisoner struggled against her restraints. She'd woken up a bit earlier than usual, so Jor Kadeen was not only annoyed at the noise, but also the hour. He scowled as he walked into the wan light of the cave, looking up at the small prison several Vulshok had struggled — and some had died — to construct. "It's too early in the morning for this foolishness, Glissa." "Release me, fool!" Kadeen shook his head. "I know you're not an idiot, elf. You were captured by us, we're not just going to release you on a whim." Glissa snarled, frothing at the mouth, infectious ichor oozing down her chin. "I will feast on your throatmeat!" Kadeen's face went sour. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I see. Fine." He drew his sword and, with a small effort of will, set it aflame.
Artwork Courtesy Austin Hsu "Let's start over. Where have the Praetors gone?" "Torture me if you wish, fleshling! All you will get from me is death!" Kadeen's mood darkened even more. Apparently, Glissa had used her most recent portion of rest to regather her resolve and put up a fresh front of bravado. Death had never held much fear for the elf, and now emboldened by her 'perfection' at the hands of the Praetors of 'New Phyrexia,' the corrupted traitor feared even less. Jor took a step forward. "I won't torture you. But I will tell you what I'll do. I'm leaving, and I'm going to melt the Tangle." Glissa stopped struggling. She stared at the Mirran warrior. "I will take my blade, which burns with the desire to see Mirrodin restored, and I will watch the copper branches and leaves of the Tangle blister and peel. The home you failed to protect will be utterly destroyed. Not 'perfected', not saved, destroyed. And it will be your fault. You'll be even more of a traitor to your birthplace than you are now." "No." Glissa strained against her bonds. "No! Release me!" Jor turned and walked away from the darksteel lattice, ignoring Glissa's screams. "Was that really necessary?" He turned, finding the slender form of Melira leaning against the cavern wall around the corner from the tunnel to Glissa's chamber.
Artwork Courtesy Min Yum "We have to reach her somehow. Personal threats don't work. I was hoping she still feels some sort of connection to the Tangle." "Even if she does, it would only be to corrupt it. To reshape it in Phyrexia's image, even moreso than it is now." Jor shook his head. "Even if I meant to carry out my threats, it's a dangerous place. I wouldn't want to get stuck there." He paused. "But we have to do something. I don't like that the Praetors are moving in ways we can't see. And Koth..." "Oh, don't start again." "We need action!" Jor's anger flared. "We've skulked in the shadows long enough! The sooner we strike out at Phyrexia, the sooner we can draw the Praetors back out, and we can fight them and we can win! We're well past the need for caution and circumspection!" Melira looked at Jor evenly. "I'll remind you that I lead here while Koth is away. Not you." "Then give me leave to do what must be done." "I've given you leave to question Glissa and gather intelligence. Not to reignite the fires of war." Jor gripped his sword more tightly. "You would have me sneak through the dark like some thief rather than bring my sword down on the necks of those who have torn apart all we hold dear... still, after everything we've been through..." Melira wasn't listening anymore. She was looking past Jor. He noticed, and turned to see a pair of amber eyes moving towards them in the dark. As the form approached, more molten glow appeared, in the hands and arms of the planeswalker Koth.
Artwork Courtesy Eric Deschamps "If you want to rant about revenge and the necks of our enemies, do so at me." Koth's voice was weary, but every bit as strong as it had been when Jor had first met him, a voice that originated somewhere around the base of a mountain. "Melira has better things to do than pay you heed." Without another word, he walked past the pair into the tunnel. They followed. Koth stopped in front of Glissa and crossed his arms. "Why are they going back to Dominaria?" Jor and Melira blinked at Koth. Jor spoke first. "How did you...?" "Later." Koth thrust his chin at Glissa. "Speak." "They now have all they need," Glissa hissed. "They have their guide. They have their knowledge. They have the perfected vector to return to the world that denied them, and make it their own, just as they have conquered this cold world of metal and simpletons." Jor scowled and moved to advance on Glissa. Koth's arm did not seem to move — one moment it was across his bare chest, the next it was blocking Jor's path, solid and unbreakable as darksteel. Jor took the hint. "Explain." "If I did not tell your little blonde lapdog, why - ?" "Because your body may no longer feel pain, but your soul does. And I can tear it out and scorch it." Both Jor and Melira stared at Koth. He continued as if he didn't notice. "I am a Planeswalker. I exceed any mortal power. And the Praetors, fearsome they may be, are mortal. As are you. Explain, before I remind you of that. This is a lesson you do not want." There was silence in the chamber. Then: "They kept his corpse, Koth of the Hammer. The Spark was gone. But he remained. And like me, he was twisted, broken, reshaped, sent forth." Glissa looked up. Her eyes were now haunted, not defiant. "They sent him home. And they follow." Koth stood like the mountains of his home. Then, he turned and stalked out. Small molten spots marked his footsteps. Jor and Melira followed hurriedly. "What did she mean?" Jor asked at the same time as Melira's "Where are you going?" "It means I have to go kill a friend," Koth said. "I'm going to kill Venser." Mondays are for making or talking about art. Credits: Magic the Gathering copyright Wizards of the Coast. Glissa the Traitor art courtesy Xoaba. Jor Kadeen art courtesy Richard Wright. Melira, Sylvok Outcast art courtesy Richard Wright. Koth of the Hammer art courtesy Richard Wright.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Code Monkey Flails At Code

Code Monkey Flails At Code — Blue Ink Alchemy

*makes various 'ook' and 'eek' sounds* *slaps paws against keyboard* *throws monitor* So over the last few months I've been learning a lot about myself. In addition to exploring my inner mental and emotional landscape, coming to terms with seizing my own sovereignty, and doing my utmost to unlearn some nasty learned behaviors, I've made strides in returning to a dayjob that is rewarding in both a personal and financial aspect. A couple of weeks ago, I finally found one. I'm very happy to be here. But ye gods and little fishes, is it frustrating sometimes. I've discovered that I'm actually a pretty logical thinker. To me, A should lead to B which results in C. However, sometimes my head weasels try to derail that and take me from A to B by way of Z. That's dumb, and I'm getting better at not doing it. Even if sometimes my boss has to say "Josh, are you making things harder than they have to be again?" I'm still not sure where I picked up my habit of trying to play life on Hard Mode. Since I started working here, I've had several jam sessions regarding programming logic and order of operations related to specific tasks and goals. It's been difficult at times for me to comprehend what goes on under the hood of certain functions, as at first the logic seems to fly in the face of common sense. However, taking a step back to realize what the code is actually doing as opposed to what we want it to do has helped. I'm still frustrated, to be sure, but at least I better understand why the hell the thing I want to work is not working. "Hey, am I just dumb, or is it this code that's dumb?" That's in jest. I know I'm not dumb. I can just overlook a fact or miss an aspect of a function that makes a thing work the way it should. We're looking at moving on from using WordPress as our foundation for our products, and building something in more modern, secure, and malleable code structures. I feel that getting tossed into the deep end of the current workload here has prepared me for that sort of looking ahead. I know this work will be worth it. Man oh man, it hurts sometimes, though. It's like going to the gym after you've skipped out for a while. Or getting back to long-distance running after taking the winter off because fuck that, it's cold outside. It hurts. You ache, and you struggle to breathe, and why in the name of all that's good and awesome am I doing this to myself. But it's worth it. Soon it won't hurt so much. And the results will be even more magical than they are now. Until then, it's poo-tossing time. *ook ook eek* Thursdays are for talking tech.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Patriarchy's Poison

The Patriarchy's Poison — Blue Ink Alchemy

Given the current state of affairs at home and abroad, I've been giving a lot of thought to how we got here. When you get right down to it, the root of the problem is what needs to be addressed. As bad as things can seem with the in-your-face nature of the situation in the now, my head tends to look past the bluster and the bullshit. We need to strike at the heart of the matter, not just the gushing wound. We need to go deeper. https://twitter.com/BlueInkAlchemy/status/836329737752621056 It's great that not only are we as a society becoming more aware of the patriarchy's role in shaping the world in which we live, but also that we are actively rolling up our sleeves to work against it. That being said, I feel that at times, we lose sight of fighting the patriarchy itself, and instead throw ourselves at the perceived vectors of it. I'm not saying this is inherently bad or wrong — no tactic in fighting the patriarchy is inherently invalid — but for my part, I want to focus my energy on drilling into the heart of the matter to find the source of this endemic rot. In other words, I feel I'm in a different division of the army arrayed against the system: some hammer against the walls, whereas I want do my utmost to undermine them. Both divisions are dedicated to the same goal, we just have different marching orders. Anyway. On to my point. The systems of the patriarchy have been in place for centuries, if not millennia. Among it's toxic structures, learned behaviors, and pattern arguments is a fundamental method of conflict resolution: "You must diminish another individual to accomplish your goals." It's one thing to take corrective action, to take an individual aside and address a problematic behavior or a decision that had toxic consequences or hurt someone else. It's another to demonize said individual merely on the face of their actions. The passionate pursuit of justice has become a defining aspect of today's feminists, activists, and radicals. While this is admirable, there's evidence pointing to a growing trend for some to use that aspect as a tool for self-advancement in a social circle or given zeitgeist. This is a vestige of the patriarchy, and it's just as toxic and just as destructive as a problematic behavior or decision that needs to be addressed. We cannot and should not excuse or explain away bad behavior or hurtful decisions, no matter how they were made or what the mental state was at the time. Actions have consequences, and when those consequences hurt or diminish another, the action must be addressed. But it must be addressed with a response, rather than a retort. A response is measured, direct, face-to-face, comprehensive, complex, and above all, done with love in one's heart for oneself and the other alike. We're all in this together, after all. A retort is knee-jerk, rooted in the heated emotion of the moment, triggered by fear or a previous harmful or toxic experience, and has far more to do with the person reacting than the inciting incident. It's harder to respond, since it takes time, the clarity to imagine the other complexly, and the wherewithal to hold space for yourself as well as the other as sovereign individuals entitled by right to equality. It's easy to retort — and the patriarchy is all about doing what's easy. Taking the thoughts and actions required to provide a measured response can be perceived as evidence of weakness, and even an invitation for abuse. There's a delay that comes when we take a moment to think, if not merely to breathe. The 'traditions' of the patriarchy teach us that such delays are openings for us to get our points in, like daggers into a threat on our lives, regardless if whether or not the person in question with whom we're trying to reason has turned their back to take a moment to gather themselves. We see the opportunity, and we stab one another in the back, and we feel justified, even vindicated, in the aftermath. We proved our point. We prevailed. Justice is done! The monster is slain! Everybody, check out this righteous kill and the utter hideousness of this thing that I stabbed to death! Go team! I hope you can see why this behavior is toxic. That's the point I'm getting at. The systems perpetuated in the spirit of the patriarchy have taught us the wrong things. We impulsively jump at the chance to prove our worth and our dedication to being an ally or smashing the patriarchy by punching whatever or whomever is in front of us right in the face. This is not to say we shouldn't punch Nazis — I'm not an advocate for violence, but come on, punching Nazis — rather, I am suggesting that we not punch each other in the same way we punch Nazis. I realize I'm mostly speaking within the echo chamber of 'social justice' folks and feminists. And that's my intent. At this point, it'd be very difficult for members of the old guard to have this form of self-awareness or critical thought. Their learned behaviors are too deeply ingrained; their pattern arguments are too well-worn and comfortable. Addressing the nature of the fuel in their toxicity is another matter. Today, in this moment, realizing that we, too, have learned toxic behaviors and lash out with harmful retorts is something we all need to be doing. I haven't been as active as I would like to be in supporting the resistance. But I've been paying attention. And for every call for unity and collective strength in smashing the systems that put us where we are and allowed the ridiculous circus of narcissistic demagogues to seize power, there are those who wish to 'weed out the weak' among us. Yes, we need to address the harmful things we can say and do to one another in the midst of all of this stress and struggle. But we can do it without diminishing the other, but rather attempting to help them be and do better. We can help one another up without having to cast anyone down. And we certainly don't need to perpetuate the broken and misguided goal of pushing ourselves forward by shoving somebody else back. To prevail against our enemy, we must not think, speak, or act as they enemy does. We must know them, but not become them. Each of us risks becoming the very monsters we desire to slay. The true monster is the system, it is a thing. And people, regardless of the individual choices they make, in spite of the moments and retorts that fly in the face of their true natures, the people they could be — people are not things. If we treat one another more like people, and less like things, even if the person in question has been acting more thing-like than person-like, we are already one step ahead of the enemy. And that single step can make a world of difference for a person who's just as worthy of love and liberty as you are. Wednesdays I wonder at the world in which we live.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

The Patriarchy's Poison

The Patriarchy's Poison — Blue Ink Alchemy

Given the current state of affairs at home and abroad, I've been giving a lot of thought to how we got here. When you get right down to it, the root of the problem is what needs to be addressed. As bad as things can seem with the in-your-face nature of the situation in the now, my head tends to look past the bluster and the bullshit. We need to strike at the heart of the matter, not just the gushing wound. We need to go deeper. https://twitter.com/BlueInkAlchemy/status/836329737752621056 It's great that not only are we as a society becoming more aware of the patriarchy's role in shaping the world in which we live, but also that we are actively rolling up our sleeves to work against it. That being said, I feel that at times, we lose sight of fighting the patriarchy itself, and instead throw ourselves at the perceived vectors of it. I'm not saying this is inherently bad or wrong — no tactic in fighting the patriarchy is inherently invalid — but for my part, I want to focus my energy on drilling into the heart of the matter to find the source of this endemic rot. In other words, I feel I'm in a different division of the army arrayed against the system: some hammer against the walls, whereas I want do my utmost to undermine them. Both divisions are dedicated to the same goal, we just have different marching orders. Anyway. On to my point. The systems of the patriarchy have been in place for centuries, if not millennia. Among it's toxic structures, learned behaviors, and pattern arguments is a fundamental method of conflict resolution: "You must diminish another individual to accomplish your goals." It's one thing to take corrective action, to take an individual aside and address a problematic behavior or a decision that had toxic consequences or hurt someone else. It's another to demonize said individual merely on the face of their actions. The passionate pursuit of justice has become a defining aspect of today's feminists, activists, and radicals. While this is admirable, there's evidence pointing to a growing trend for some to use that aspect as a tool for self-advancement in a social circle or given zeitgeist. This is a vestige of the patriarchy, and it's just as toxic and just as destructive as a problematic behavior or decision that needs to be addressed. We cannot and should not excuse or explain away bad behavior or hurtful decisions, no matter how they were made or what the mental state was at the time. Actions have consequences, and when those consequences hurt or diminish another, the action must be addressed. But it must be addressed with a response, rather than a retort. A response is measured, direct, face-to-face, comprehensive, complex, and above all, done with love in one's heart for oneself and the other alike. We're all in this together, after all. A retort is knee-jerk, rooted in the heated emotion of the moment, triggered by fear or a previous harmful or toxic experience, and has far more to do with the person reacting than the inciting incident. It's harder to respond, since it takes time, the clarity to imagine the other complexly, and the wherewithal to hold space for yourself as well as the other as sovereign individuals entitled by right to equality. It's easy to retort — and the patriarchy is all about doing what's easy. Taking the thoughts and actions required to provide a measured response can be perceived as evidence of weakness, and even an invitation for abuse. There's a delay that comes when we take a moment to think, if not merely to breathe. The 'traditions' of the patriarchy teach us that such delays are openings for us to get our points in, like daggers into a threat on our lives, regardless if whether or not the person in question with whom we're trying to reason has turned their back to take a moment to gather themselves. We see the opportunity, and we stab one another in the back, and we feel justified, even vindicated, in the aftermath. We proved our point. We prevailed. Justice is done! The monster is slain! Everybody, check out this righteous kill and the utter hideousness of this thing that I stabbed to death! Go team! I hope you can see why this behavior is toxic. That's the point I'm getting at. The systems perpetuated in the spirit of the patriarchy have taught us the wrong things. We impulsively jump at the chance to prove our worth and our dedication to being an ally or smashing the patriarchy by punching whatever or whomever is in front of us right in the face. This is not to say we shouldn't punch Nazis — I'm not an advocate for violence, but come on, punching Nazis — rather, I am suggesting that we not punch each other in the same way we punch Nazis. I realize I'm mostly speaking within the echo chamber of 'social justice' folks and feminists. And that's my intent. At this point, it'd be very difficult for members of the old guard to have this form of self-awareness or critical thought. Their learned behaviors are too deeply ingrained; their pattern arguments are too well-worn and comfortable. Addressing the nature of the fuel in their toxicity is another matter. Today, in this moment, realizing that we, too, have learned toxic behaviors and lash out with harmful retorts is something we all need to be doing. I haven't been as active as I would like to be in supporting the resistance. But I've been paying attention. And for every call for unity and collective strength in smashing the systems that put us where we are and allowed the ridiculous circus of narcissistic demagogues to seize power, there are those who wish to 'weed out the weak' among us. Yes, we need to address the harmful things we can say and do to one another in the midst of all of this stress and struggle. But we can do it without diminishing the other, but rather attempting to help them be and do better. We can help one another up without having to cast anyone down. And we certainly don't need to perpetuate the broken and misguided goal of pushing ourselves forward by shoving somebody else back. To prevail against our enemy, we must not think, speak, or act as they enemy does. We must know them, but not become them. Each of us risks becoming the very monsters we desire to slay. The true monster is the system, it is a thing. And people, regardless of the individual choices they make, in spite of the moments and retorts that fly in the face of their true natures, the people they could be — people are not things. If we treat one another more like people, and less like things, even if the person in question has been acting more thing-like than person-like, we are already one step ahead of the enemy. And that single step can make a world of difference for a person who's just as worthy of love and liberty as you are.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

The Patriarchy's Poison

The Patriarchy's Poison — Blue Ink Alchemy

Given the current state of affairs at home and abroad, I've been giving a lot of thought to how we got here. When you get right down to it, the root of the problem is what needs to be addressed. As bad as things can seem with the in-your-face nature of the situation in the now, my head tends to look past the bluster and the bullshit. We need to strike at the heart of the matter, not just the gushing wound. We need to go deeper. https://twitter.com/BlueInkAlchemy/status/836329737752621056 It's great that not only are we as a society becoming more aware of the patriarchy's role in shaping the world in which we live, but also that we are actively rolling up our sleeves to work against it. That being said, I feel that at times, we lose sight of fighting the patriarchy itself, and instead throw ourselves at the perceived vectors of it. I'm not saying this is inherently bad or wrong — no tactic in fighting the patriarchy is inherently invalid — but for my part, I want to focus my energy on drilling into the heart of the matter to find the source of this endemic rot. In other words, I feel I'm in a different division of the army arrayed against the system: some hammer against the walls, whereas I want do my utmost to undermine them. Both divisions are dedicated to the same goal, we just have different marching orders. Anyway. On to my point. The systems of the patriarchy have been in place for centuries, if not millennia. Among it's toxic structures, learned behaviors, and pattern arguments is a fundamental method of conflict resolution: "You must diminish another individual to accomplish your goals." It's one thing to take corrective action, to take an individual aside and address a problematic behavior or a decision that had toxic consequences or hurt someone else. It's another to demonize said individual merely on the face of their actions. The passionate pursuit of justice has become a defining aspect of today's feminists, activists, and radicals. While this is admirable, there's evidence pointing to a growing trend for some to use that aspect as a tool for self-advancement in a social circle or given zeitgeist. This is a vestige of the patriarchy, and it's just as toxic and just as destructive as a problematic behavior or decision that needs to be addressed. We cannot and should not excuse or explain away bad behavior or hurtful decisions, no matter how they were made or what the mental state was at the time. Actions have consequences, and when those consequences hurt or diminish another, the action must be addressed. But it must be addressed with a response, rather than a retort. A response is measured, direct, face-to-face, comprehensive, complex, and above all, done with love in one's heart for oneself and the other alike. We're all in this together, after all. A retort is knee-jerk, rooted in the heated emotion of the moment, triggered by fear or a previous harmful or toxic experience, and has far more to do with the person reacting than the inciting incident. It's harder to respond, since it takes time, the clarity to imagine the other complexly, and the wherewithal to hold space for yourself as well as the other as sovereign individuals entitled by right to equality. It's easy to retort — and the patriarchy is all about doing what's easy. Taking the thoughts and actions required to provide a measured response can be perceived as evidence of weakness, and even an invitation for abuse. There's a delay that comes when we take a moment to think, if not merely to breathe. The 'traditions' of the patriarchy teach us that such delays are openings for us to get our points in, like daggers into a threat on our lives, regardless if whether or not the person in question with whom we're trying to reason has turned their back to take a moment to gather themselves. We see the opportunity, and we stab one another in the back, and we feel justified, even vindicated, in the aftermath. We proved our point. We prevailed. Justice is done! The monster is slain! Everybody, check out this righteous kill and the utter hideousness of this thing that I stabbed to death! Go team! I hope you can see why this behavior is toxic. That's the point I'm getting at. The systems perpetuated in the spirit of the patriarchy have taught us the wrong things. We impulsively jump at the chance to prove our worth and our dedication to being an ally or smashing the patriarchy by punching whatever or whomever is in front of us right in the face. This is not to say we shouldn't punch Nazis — I'm not an advocate for violence, but come on, punching Nazis — rather, I am suggesting that we not punch each other in the same way we punch Nazis. I realize I'm mostly speaking within the echo chamber of 'social justice' folks and feminists. And that's my intent. At this point, it'd be very difficult for members of the old guard to have this form of self-awareness or critical thought. Their learned behaviors are too deeply ingrained; their pattern arguments are too well-worn and comfortable. Addressing the nature of the fuel in their toxicity is another matter. Today, in this moment, realizing that we, too, have learned toxic behaviors and lash out with harmful retorts is something we all need to be doing. I haven't been as active as I would like to be in supporting the resistance. But I've been paying attention. And for every call for unity and collective strength in smashing the systems that put us where we are and allowed the ridiculous circus of narcissistic demagogues to seize power, there are those who wish to 'weed out the weak' among us. Yes, we need to address the harmful things we can say and do to one another in the midst of all of this stress and struggle. But we can do it without diminishing the other, but rather attempting to help them be and do better. We can help one another up without having to cast anyone down. And we certainly don't need to worry about pushing ourselves forward by shoving somebody else back. To prevail against our enemy, we must not think, speak, or act as they enemy does. We must know them, but not become them. Each of us risks becoming the very monsters we desire to slay. The true monster is the system, it is a thing. And people, regardless of the individual choices they make, in spite of the moments and retorts that fly in the face of their true natures, the people they could be — people are not things. If we treat one another more like people, and less like things, even if the person in question has been acting more thing-like than person-like, we are already one step ahead of the enemy. And that single step can make a world of difference for a person who's just as worthy of love and liberty as you are.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy