A Beautiful Writer With No Name

A Beautiful Writer With No Name

...and no I'm not talking about myself this time.

It's so rare anymore that I find something that I don't have to have to read with a vague disinterest that I just have to remark on this incredible person with no name and rage about the fact that I don't know who they are. They wrote in 2005 only. They wrote under a category called manga. And the stories that they wrote kept me up for hours. This NEVER happens anymore. Their characterization was beautiful. I fell in love with the people they created. Their main antagonist was so sexy that when they killed him (as much as he deserved to die) I felt a pang of regret. I'm still feeling it. 

It was a dirty little story that I devoured with the most relish, but there were others that weren't so dirty and were just as beautiful. This person was young and talented. Their work was rich and gorgeous. And I have to herald that nameless ass that just disappeared when there was no more to read. They were writing yaoi and they wrote it right. I am lamenting the loss of them. 

It hurts

I haven't found anyone like them to read in so long its not even funny. For a person that always ate books voraciously, stumbling upon them was one of the best thing that has happened to me in 2014. And I'm angry that they're gone (from my greedy self anyway), but glad they left those stories behind for me to find. Grateful. And happy for the interruption in the grindy, ever-boredom that is my life. That is, after all, what a good story is for. 

I hope that this person realized that they were talented and moved on and beyond the handle that they used to post their stories. I hope that they continued to write and I just don't know who they are so that there is a chance to find them again. What clues they left behind, I definitely went looking through--but, in the end, there was nothing more. And I am kind of sad about it in a selfish, needy, way--but happy that I got to read the main story and the little clips of others that were available. 

What is beautiful, truly beautiful, is not always that which is promoted. Sometimes there's just this little flicker of absolute beauty, and, if you're lucky, you find it. That is what happened to me tonight. -Bounces-


Recently, I came across Harlan Ellison's, I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream. This was a hellova story. It fits into a different category for me than the above because love is love and fucked up sci-fi is ... fucked up sci-fi. I prefer the love, but I was into horror and science fiction before I had the remotest concept of what love could possibly be. I must admit, Ellison rocked me too. The title of the story alone is a nightmare, honestly. The rest of it did not disappoint. 

I also saw Ellison on Youtube saying something about the fact that the last person paid in the creative process of bringing works to the masses is the writer. Having dealt with the things that I have dealt with while attempting to be paid for the work I do, I must say that I found it amazing that someone like him would encounter a problem like this. He screamed: PAY THE WRITER with a passion I could appreciate.

It amazes me how quickly other people tend to think that the things you create belong to them--that they have some right to make money off the work you sweat and bleed over. 

We live in a cruel world where people take the things you can't protect. In a world where a beautiful voice can be silenced by those with more power--at a misbegotten whim. There is no wrong or right, only MIGHT

And that might will sell the same old shit like it's candy and the people will love it because they'll think that's all there is, that same old story with a brand new cover. 


Reading truly good shit puts me in a strange mood. Seeing that writer disappear though, even if its only a mirage and they went on to write great things that I am somehow missing, upsets me. I suppose some of the reason may have to do with The-Invisible-Raquel-Trick, but, mostly, it's because I'd like to read more of that person.  

Anyway, I am currently RPing in order to tell tales that get immediate reaction to the things I write. Unfortunately, the place where I am RPing at is...less than satisfying. The level of the mind game is about a quarter of what I'm used to, and my satisfaction with the game is less than that. I'm going to have to pull up stakes and find a new home for my little rapists...I mean, characters. Mind chess isn't any fun if the other players are...slooow

And for the nefarious fuckers that stalk this blog--mind chess isn't any fun if you've got all the means to tip over the table and destroy the whole of the game either. But, then, we aren't playing chess, are we? You're just beating me like a runaway slave until I shatter.

In a world that stole the children of the Native American's and put them in Boarding Schools designed to, very literally, rape their culture right out of them...In a world where people were enslaved and treated like shit and are blamed everyday for being the victims of the abuses still visited upon them...

...I suppose I can't complain, eh?

That's just the way it is

You gotta operate the easy way
I made a G today
But you made it in a sleazy way
Selling crack to the kids
I gotta get paid

That's just the way it is.