Dorian Parvus: Dragon Age Inquisition

TEVINTER MAGES DO IT BETTER...

ASK FENRIS   >.>

I want to say that Dorian is my favorite Dragon Age character yet. Alas, Fenris the wolf exists and he is a bondage slave, sooooo... I refuse to choose between them. I am also fond of  Zevran 'da thot' an Anders of the split persona. 

Honestly, Morrigan, Alistair, and Aveline also rank. 

Dorian is either number one or number two but he is top of the charts as far as charm and wit and character. His back story is a tumultuous sad thing, and he holds up well under all that sadness. He is just a greatly written being to hang around. I romanced him like romancing him was gonna pay me money. 

And, srsly, dat assssssssss... tho. 

Dorian is Dragon Age's first official all gay character. A female character can not romance him. And he is well thought out in my humble opinion and so beautiful he even made that damn mustache work. 

I highly recommend these games to just about everybody. I am going through a very tough time right now and living in the Dragon Age world is extremely helpful in seeing myself through this. Stress relief. Nice people. Noble quests to save the world ...

...makes one forget that stress is normal, nice people don't exist, and nobility died a long fucking time ago.

I had to erect a temple to him. Considering I didn't erect such a temple for Fenris, maybe this makes Dorian number one. However, I have written Fernis fanfiction, but, I think, for Dorian...it's only a matter of time... 

GACKT, Returner

No blah blah blah today.

Feeling this...

Posting this.

Cinderella Got A Prince And a Kingdom

I can not say I hated this movie. No one dies in this movie, and, for me, that is already a winner's situation considering that this is a gay film -- or a film where the main character is gay. I can say that I didn't like the movie though. Mostly, because I have seen this movie before in this way and that way. The premise is familiar and I found it to be sad in the oddest way possible. I've noticed, in a lot of gay films, everybody dies, one of the lover's dies leaving the other alone, or ... something like what happened in this film, which I will not give away because the film is worthy of watching ultimately. 

I will say that I sympathized completely with the main character. I felt his inner turmoil and confusion, his absolute fear in discovering and having to deal with the fact that he was gay and in love with his best friend (who, I guess, is supposed to be straight even though he likes jacking off with this kid, but whatever). Hell, that confused  me, so there's no wonder it confused the main character.

These young men do that whole boat rowing competitive thing, and they go to camp in order to practice before the big competition. At camp, one of the teams they will be competing against is comprised of a bunch of gay boys called Queer-Something-Or-Other. Here, you have gay boys who are unashamedly themselves coming into contact with the main character who is just realizing this about himself. All this is coming to a boiling point because the best friend has gone and gotten himself a girlfriend that he is serious about. Chaos ensues. Hearts are broken. All to the beat of a summer storm that lasted a few minutes and knocked down some trees. 

I don't like watching hearts breaking, so, when I say I don't like the film -- this is, mostly, the reason. But all in all, it's deeper than that. Like ... why tell this particular story over and over again? I understand that there's a brutal kind of reality to this ... but ... people reject other people for all kinds of reasons. Hearts get broken for all kinds of reasons. Why is this a ... formula ... for a certain kind of plot? What is gained by repeating this over and over and over ...?

...without, at least, adding something to it?

_____

The likelihood that Cinderella got the prince in real life ... is so small as to be ridiculously minuscule. In reality, that bitch would have to do some severe thot-walking in order to get that rich, handsome, wealthy man's attention with her broke ass. The likelihood that he would have just USED her and walked away is far more realistic. And she would have been cast out afterward with her bastard child that he didn't claim to become a prostitute or a beggar. 

And, yet, girls across the world have been gifted since time immemorial with this image of the lovely girl getting the prince. Dreams were born of it/realities were carved from its backbone -- and lovely stories were inspired everywhere that took away the bad 'you can't do that' bits and made LOVE the key. 

As far as fairy tales go, Summer Storm is the genuine Grimm's version of The Little Mermaid (though he did not die and he did learn to be himself, which is why the movie gets a pass from me--being yourself (and letting other people be themselves) is always good, no matter what, and maybe that is the thing that bears repeating over and over again until people FINALLY get it). 

But if you, like I, want to watch Cinderella, then go watch: North Sea Texas.

I grew up in a country that told me it was the land of the free. This fictional county was founded on freedoms--freedom of religion, freedom of a whole bunch of things. This country had a constitution that was, for the most part, a beautiful thing to read. And all throughout  school, I was told that I was a free individual, that my freedoms had been fought and died for and paid for in blood. 

Lies--all of it. They were lies in the beginning and they are still lies today--and, yet, that shit was preached to me hour after hour day after day in classroom after classroom. And I believed it as the sheep believes the Shepherd, even if the Shepherd is a wolf in disguise. 

Today, I watched a man being gunned down by the police in Pasco, WA--a few minutes ago, actually. This man was causing some kind of disturbance. He was tossing rocks or something stupid like that. There's a theory floating around that he was mentally disturbed. He hadn't hurt anyone. In front of whomever happened to be there to watch (children included) the police shot this man down like a dog--even after he raised his hands in the universal gesture of absolute surrender. 

It was murder most foul that the police did commit against this man. He ran from them, and they killed him. 

Watching the news here is like being trapped in a nightmare on repeat--a nightmare that will not stop, and, sometimes, I can't believe this is my life, or life in general. Trapped here. Subject to this. 

The police are killing people--putting them down like animals--and there are those who would still defend them, that find some reason in all this madness. And I just can't. I have, you see, a big flaw in my character. I think that all people are people equally. I can't justify, in my mind, the murder of a person for superficial reasons.  Comments on this particular shooting run the gamut of people trying to reason out this unthinkable crime into something that they can deal with mentally and emotionally. They put distance between themselves and the victim for all sorts of reasons. 

And I am left wondering how they can do that. 

How they can watch him be riddled with bullets like that, and die like that, and feel ... nothing. 

My thoughts aren't as naive as they may seem. I study history for sport and understanding. I understand that history has a tendency to repeat, and I understand that those who do not know their history are doomed to repeat it. 

I understand, truly, how the people watching justify themselves, what mechanisms they use and why those convenient mechanisms are there deep within them. There is a lack of humanity in it all thought that repeats itself like an ugly song throughout history--again and again and again. 

I watched a murder today by those who are paid to protect us. I watched the callous extinguishing of another life by the guardians of this society. I felt that shit deep down inside and it actually made me a little sick--but I couldn't move, couldn't turn it off, and saw it through to the very end of the short little video. 

And life will go on like it didn't happen. People will stare at Kim Kardasian's ass, they will work their full time jobs for their full time masters, they will continue to be the same way they always are and always have been. Nothing I say here will matter at all, and I'm not really saying it to make any kind of difference. I'm writing here to take that weird queasy feeling out of my stomach--because writing things always makes me feel a little better about whatever's going on. 

But, every once in a while, someone asks me about my tendency toward isolation. A woman who lives across the street from me said that "You are a very private person" and she wanted to know how I can do that -- be this way. 

I wanted to know why she bothered to notice, ya know?

The truth is:

I do not respect stupidity.

I am subject to stupidity on a daily basis in more way that I can ever write down here. I walk around looking like shit on purpose most of the time--and I catch the odd stares and disapproval for my baggy pants and gym-fucking-shoes--relatively cheap ones at that cause I'll be damned if I spend three hundred dollars on a pair of fuckin' kicks. I walk like a thug, talk like a thug when I feel like it and am a thug every mother fucking day of my mother fucking life and I do it on purpose -- not because I want to be hurt or die and certainly not because I have some point to make -- but because I just don't care anymore, ultimately. 

In the end, I will wink out like a match in the wind, and this shit will keep keeping on like it's been keeping on. 

There's hope for the future. *rollz eyes*

One day, there may be a world where a man gets shot down in the street and people demand retribution for the senseless life taken. One day, one man may not feel the burning hot urge to kill another man so casually like its a badge of honor to have 'bagged' another human being. But in the wake of human trophies and gator bait and slavery and human zoos and witch burning and human pillars and human sacrifice -- all condoned by whatever society they were practiced in -- I believe that day is a long time coming. 

Preaching Hatred

"... naked pictures of naked men doing sex to each other..." Pat Robertson

(I couldn't resist the quote actually. It's so pornographic coming out of a preacher's mouth. I had this fucker on repeat for at least a half an hour.)

Gay people should be able to get married. I think its a stupid issue, actually. It is, to me, arguing about nothing. The whole world holding its collective breath to see the outcome of ... nothing. It is an 'of course' kind of thing. It may seem as if I am downplaying the issue on some level by saying this. I have never seen the big ole hairy ass deal, yo. The cost of suffering and pain outweighs any thought to the contrary of letting people who want to marry ... marry. People are dying over this shit. People are being denied the ability to LOVE whomever they want in this cruel and rather loveless world. If a person can find happiness, then I want them to grab it and hold it for all its worth and as long as they can. 

Jim Veach, a pastor from Georgia went on a rant against gay marriage that I watched today. He is the inspiration for this, my own, mini-rant. He says that god created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve -- a popular dumb ass thing to say by those who do not support love between consenting adults. And one I am sick of hearing considering god 'created' Adam and Eve and Steve and everyfuckingthingandbodyelse, according to that book. This person went on and on about what is and what is not normal. He spoke with a certain measure of hatred and mockery that is not supposed to be the message of his book, and I could only think while listening to him that a few hundred years ago, he would have been just as passionate about the dissolution of the state of slavery that held this country in its grips for four hundred miserable, inhumane, fucking years.

Hatred and disrespect always sounds the same, shouted loud, from the pulpit. Its sad, really. In all truth, he is outmatched by James Manning and his Manning Report on Starbucks spreading ebola -- EBOWLAAAAH!!!-- via gay sex and semen or something ridiculous like that. Manning is a black man and he's written a couple of books, I guess, since they're up on the screen while he's ranting. I don't know what those books are about, and I don't want to know. What I wonder, instead, is whether Mr. Manning is aware that a lot of people are blaming The Dreaded Ebwolaaaah on black people--African's specifically, and there was a period where A students from Africa weren't allowed to attend American universities because of the Ebowlaaah! Meaning that hatred is circular and it is always going to swing around and bite you in the ass in the end. 

I do not understand a concept of god that allows for hatred. People like those I mentioned above are funny to me -- except for the fact that they are dangerous. They preach love on one hand and fear and hatred on another -- all the while passing that collection plate. They feed fear and collect dollars. And it is obvious to the unafraid. And, most importantly, they don't care who they hurt in the process. There are people who believe them and go out and hurt other people based on the things they say. It is both irresponsible and predatory.

I can not be grateful for the simple common sense and human decency that has a lot of people laughing at the men I mentioned above. I worry instead that it takes humanity so long to do the right thing in almost all cases. For me, gay marriage isn't even an issue. I didn't have to waste five minutes in consideration as to whether it was right or wrong. Love between consenting adults is NEVER wrong--the fucking end. The fact that it needs to be fretted over and picked at like it is ... is, truly, beyond me on spiritual levels. And, anything that stands against love, I have to question. Srsly.   

It's one of the few good things we have in this -- coporatized, work-yourself-to-death, dignity for your dreams, pay this bill and that bill, we are better than them, cut down the trees and build more shopping malls, poison the water, spray pesticides on the food, cancerous, Ebowlaaaah!, everybody's got that one creepy uncle -- motherfucker. 

_____

STORYTIME

'cause ... why not?

I wrote Chosen for a contest on a gay website. I didn't think anything of it at the time. A story is a story. There was no monetary prize, but, at the time, I didn't care about things like that. I wanted the challenge of creating something that the individual who ran the site would like. He seemed picky and selective. I can't resist that. 

Anyway, the rules were simple: 2,500 word count and the story had to take place in outer space. There was a naughtier rule about it all -- but I won't write it down here. I wrote the story in one night the night before the entries were due ' cause that's how I ROLL. I sent it in and let it be. 

About a week later, I got a response from the site's owner who told me that he loved the story but asked a lot of personal questions -- mostly in regards to my name. Ultimately, I will never actually know what the problem was but he seemed to be in awe that I had hung out on his site without running the fuck away the second that I could see it ... let alone had written a story for his contest. 

I found him, truthfully, mesmerizing, and, likely, always will for that conversation. In the end, he never could bring himself to reject the story, but, instead, closed the entire contest. I couldn't really feel bad about it as I published the story -- at least for a little while -- elsewhere. 

People are strange 

When you're a stranger... 

Especially me. 

Veteran of a Thousand Psychic Wars

So, I am writing this little dirty bit of fan fiction. And. Frankly. It's pissing me off. Some things take longer to write than others. Some things are mad complicated. And some things are just downright annoying. It doesn't help that everything has to be right by my standard. When I say that, I don't mean the writing has to be flawless and perfect--I couldn't judge that if I wanted to, and I tend to make hilarious mistakes that I find later. What has to be 'right' is the feel of the thing.

These two people really like each other. However, they both have hostile, combative personalities to some degree. I've never been one to make people do things--which, sorta, flies in the face of writing. These two are difficult to maneuver. And, I suppose, my concern with them isn't even them. It is that I won't finish the story and find out what happens in the end. That's a terrible place to be. I have several stories like that, fanfic or original, with characters that I really like--unfinished. It's like watching a good movie half way through. Here's to hoping that I finish this one and find out how it turns out. And, since I have to talk about something in this space in a reasonably regular fashion, I'll talk about what it means when I say that I enjoy writing fanfiction.

REASONS I LOVE DIS STUFF

Writing original fiction is a lawless places, and, normally, I enjoy living in that space a lot. There, I set up the rules. In a life that has been set up for me, with rules I do not often agree with but am forced to comply with, within the realm of writing I am free. I make the rules. The sky is whatever color that I say that it is. The trees are the size that I want them to be. I can eliminate racial prejudice or accelerate it. In my worlds, gender and sexuality may or may not matter. A lot of people say that writers have a god complex. I disagree with the arrogance implied in a god complex. I don't like the world as it is. I color it in ways that I can understand and that make sense to me. My motivation is desperation, not ego. That is why I write. You will rarely catch me penning original contemporary stuff unless asked/forced. I just don't care for it, and I leave that kind of thing to other people better suited to the task. 

The lawless land of originality is tempered by fanfiction. Fanfiction, by it's very nature, is not an original piece of work. Here are lands with carefully constructed rules already in place. The difference is, I like the worlds, and I can choose to linger about in them. The characters are people already. Every once in a while, I can deepen their personas, but I can't change them. Herein, lies the challenge in writing fanfiction. 

Do not alter the world unreasonably. 

Do not alter the character of someone else's creation. 

Having read a lot of fanfiction prior to writing it, I can honestly say that most of the writers do not adhere to the couple of rules set above. Of the two, the second one, I have found, is the most damning. If an author sets up a character's personality in a certain way, and you love that character enough to write about him/her, what is the point of changing their character? The person becomes different, unrecognizable as themselves, and the story changes from something of an homage to something maddening and laughable. 

I think of it like a test personally--a test with rules that determine pass or fail. The rules are the construct of the world and the people I am working with. To fail, is to alter them. To pass, is to sneak a story into that world that could have believably happened within it. It is, in this way, harder than being original. And I love that. The challenge. 

In the end, it's only really about how one plays the game.

_____

A friend recently reminded me of this song, and since I definitely feel like this, this miserably plagued kind of night, I'm gonna put it up. 

Thank you, Jamie.

You see me now 

A veteran 

Of a thousand psychic wars

I've been living on the edge so long

Where the winds of limbo roar

And I'm young enough to look at

And far too old to see

All the scars are on the inside

I'm not sure that there's anything left of me

Sidenote: to say  that I don't know who put Light Yagami's uber-sexy, murderous ass in that there dress. But, if that person happens upon this and wants me to credit them all they have to do is say so. 

I can't draw. I don't take photographs/paint. etc. All the work of other marvelous people. 

The Accepted And Condoned Serial Murders That Society Commits

Leelah Alcorn killed herself. She stepped in front of a truck the Sunday after Christmas. I looked at a picture of her face and found her to be both sad and beautiful all at once. She was born a boy in a Christian household. In the face of telling her parents that she felt like a girl born into a boy's body, she was told that: God does not make mistakes.

I am not a reporter. I talk about the things that bother me in this online place that I call my own. I am not telling this story for any other reason than I heard it and it bothered me. It hurt me. You can read it if you want, you can sympathize, disagree or go away.

The death of Leelah Alcorn is murder to me. And while I realize that this is an odd thing to say, I mean it with every fiber of my being. Our society murders innocent people, and it begins with a death of the soul that oftentimes transfers itself into a death of the body--a senseless kind of death. This person did not have cancer. This person wasn't shot in the commission of some terrible crime. This person was murdered from the inside out, and, I guess, what I want people to do is TALK about it--admit that we do this to one another. Hopefully, if we speak on it, we can stop killing our future doctors and scientists and poets for stupid reasons that don't matter at all in the great scheme of things that are ... human.

People are killing their own children. And this is something cold and cruel that I simply do not understand. While I get the fact that some people kill their children every day and the jails and prisons are stocked full of those kinds of people, this isn't quite that. 'Good' people, 'decent' people--not cold blooded psychopaths are committing the acts that I am talking about here. People very close to this benevolent 'god' that they claim to believe in. If these parents truly believed that 'God does not make mistakes' then it stands to reason, by their own account, that they wouldn't find anything wrong with their child to begin with. Their god made their child the way they are in the first place, correct?

Instead, they take this poor kid off to be tortured by fanatics (Christian 'therapists') who think they can change the child's inner make up to fit better into some bullshit 'standard' of what society calls 'correct' and 'true'. Tortured, the child tries to conform and when the child can not the child is rejected. A lot of the time, these children are put out of their households and forced out onto the streets -- defenseless against the predators that are out there waiting for them. A lot of the time, these children just up and kill themselves unable to be what is wanted--unable to be anything other than who they are.

I'd like to say that I can't imagine the pain, etc., but I can. It only takes being human to put yourself in the shoes of a person like this. It's not as hard as some people try to make it out to be. We are all people and we all have empathy. Imagine what it is like to be like this person, imagine the kind of rejection one would feel being cast off from one's family, reviled, discussed like there's something wrong with you all the time, talked down to, belittled...

Imagine the hurt ... and change.

This murdered kid could be the person that cures cancer for us all. And, yet, this life is snuffed out for the stupidest reason imaginable -- an ideology, a fucking idea of how things are 'supposed' to be.

I despise labels--and the way human beings have of putting things into neat little boxes that are, more often than not, labeled incorrectly and for convenience. My convenience is not more important than someone's LIFE.

Please don't be sad, it's for the better. The life I would've lived isn't worth living in... because I'm transgender..." 

She would never truly be a girl, her mother said, because God doesn't make mistakes.

"If you are reading this, parents, please don't tell this to your kids, even if you are Christian or are against transgender people don't ever say that to someone, especially your kid...That won't do anything but make them hate them self. That's exactly what it did to me."

"All I have to do is jump, and then everything is over."

Maybe I'm wrong and my imagination is not good enough. There is a school of thought that seems to believe that you can't understand a thing unless you are that thing yourself. I have my own demons, and while they are not the same, they are similar--because I'm a fucking person and we are not as different as we'd like to claim. I can not even imagine doing something like this to my own. The agony in this kid's death note is palatable, and I wouldn't want to make my child feel that way about anything, especially something they can't change like: WHO THEY ARE. 

I wouldn't want to be responsible for that kind of pain, and then claim, somehow, to love that person. These are things you do to someone you hate, and, even then, only if you are a monster. 

Then again, if Da Lord told me to slit my son's throat on the top of a mountain, I'd have told him to go fuck himself. 

End Transgender Conversion Therapy
_____

Currently in my kitchen making Lean just like Trayvon Martin--even though you can't make Lean with Skittles and Iced Tea. With this new hate driven recipe, I'm going to create that Imaginary Lean that's just as tasty as Walter White's Blue Sky and I'm going to get so fucked up that I float right off this shitty little planet with its judgmental, cave-thinking, twisted humans who think they are sooo much better than the animals around them but put the animals to shame for the horrific, selfish, bullshit they do to one another like its NOTHING ...