I wanna live on the edge of dyin’!
I wanna bleed til these bones are dry, yeah!
Wanna burn til there’s nothing left,
And I will rise again!
~D.
Tag Archives: life
Rise Again
7 JanNext Time, I’ll Post Something That Isn’t So Brief, I Swear
2 Dec
This is a message to everyone who is doing so: STOP SENDING ME YOUR SPAM COMMENTS. I’m never going to post them, no one is. If you’re just going to come by all our blogs and leave your potentially virus-ridden links, do us all a favor a go die, you non-contributing pieces of Mercury.
Incidentally, I don’t actually hate you guys, I just don’t like it when you make me thing I have twenty comments when I really only have four, and then I find out the other four was you again.
~D.
C
23 Oct
Wow. It’s crazy how far we’ve come, isn’t it? I mean, take a look.
We started with that review of that one movie with the dolls. Then, I said something I’d like to take back, and got lazy, and didn’t post for some time. After that, I came back and told a story, turned into more of a weirdo than usual. Then there was this poorly edited version of something I wrote, followed by another poorly edited version of something I wrote that is now way different, even in terms of plot, time periods, character development, dialogue, etc. So much stuff!
Man, what else did we do? Ah, that’s right! We went on a journey together, and you heard my voice and it was awkward. I wrote a bad ending, and watched an adequate show so you didn’t have to. We followed a goat, examined terrorism, false advertised, discussed knowledge, stayed up late, talked about you, got pissed about abortion, started, got pissed about each other (or I guess it was just me being a bitch or whatever), got pissed about some superhero movie, analyzed characters. Hell, we even got you to want to follow me on Twitter less than you already did! Oh, and something about 9/11, and loving you.
I think the last thing we discussed was racism, and I’ve been away a while. Don’t worry, I’m not disappearing. I just wanted to make sure I did something special for our hundredth time together. I couldn’t come up with much, honestly. Just remembering the good times with the Legendary Heroes and whatnot.
Okay, I guess that’s everything. Here’s something to read before you go to bed, or when you wake up, or whenever. Oh, and here’s a list.
Goodnight/good morning/good evening/good space/you all need to play Beyond: Two Souls.
~D.
P.S. – I think I left out something, but I feel like I shouldn’t talk about it for some reason.
P.P.S. – Look at this tiger.
Four More Years
23 Sep
Where we start is where we end,
And at the end, we start again.
We do this because it is fun
To make a game and have it won.
And see, that’s what all this stuff is:
The cat, the dog, the wife, the kids,
The house, the car, the book you wrote,
The pictures, the meals, that winter coat
You wore to your son’s baseball game
So you could watch his rise to fame.
You did it for your daughter, too
When, live onstage, she played the blues.
All these things, the art, the music,
They’re there for us to simply use it
And succeed at this game we made,
The one which forever we’ve played
Because of how much fun it’s been,
And also ’cause—hell—we love to win!
It’s how we roll. You know it’s true.
It’s how we live, me and you
And us all under the same roof,
Bound by ties that need no proof
Of existence. We know they’re there.
They’re why we love and why we care
About each other so much, so purely.
You understand why I’m saying this, surely?
Well, if you don’t, I’ll let you know
Why I’ve been speaking to you so
Oddly, in a fashion I don’t normally pick:
It’s my Fourth Anniversary! Come on, you pricks!
How could you forget the twenty-third,
In which I penned the very first words
That started our little game
Within the Great Game? What a shame
You should forget this day, the start
Of me talking to you through art,
And us building this powerful bond,
The kind that lasts forever strong.
But I know that you didn’t forget,
You only needed me to let
You know it’s okay to celebrate
This (obvious rhyme) momentous date
When you and I first became friends.
It’ll start here, end here, and start again,
Just as it’s always been with us.
We’ll make more games and build more trust,
And every year I’ll write a poem,
Which you’ll read on your screen at home.
And maybe you’ll write back to me,
And tell me how good it feels to be
Alive and powerful, all of those things
That this Great Game we’ve made eternally brings.
All right, I guess that’s where this story ends,
And, where it stops, another begins.
I’ve had fun, really, living these last four years with you.
Here’s to next quartet, goo goo g’joob.
~D.
P.S. – To trace the origin of the image at the top, this is the place to look. Good luck.
Type It
11 Sep
I googled “twin towers” a few seconds ago. I was looking in the “Images” section. I expected smoke, fire, evil, all those things to come up first. I was surprised to find that all the starting pictures were of the Twin Towers prior to that day that changed our way of life forever. Here, look at this one. Isn’t it something? Look at how big they are compared to all the other buildings? They have this eternal look about them, this indestructible quality. I’m well aware that they no longer stand, but right there they just seem unbreakable.
I scrolled down. Immediately the scenery I expected came up: the smoke, the fire, the evil, the planes. Funny, there’s so much controversy over how it happened. Does it matter? I mean, of course it “matters,” but does it matter, really? No, no, no. How it happened, or even that it happened isn’t what really matters. It’s what we did about it that deserves remembrance, and, at the very least, praise. We buckled down, we didn’t give in, we remained united, we helped each other, saved each other even. We won. That was the real victory, and that’s the victory that should’ve been observed to begin with.
Yes, it’s true, justice should be exacted when crimes are committed, but it’s gone on so long that people are starting to forget the victory and think only of the crashes, the explosions, the screaming, the terror, and the need to completely eradicate “those people.” I’m not saying punishment wasn’t in order. I’m not saying it still isn’t. But the focus on it is far too great. What warrants our attention is what we gained, not what we lost. It’s unity, ya hear? That’s what matters.
I googled “unity” a few seconds ago. I was looking in the “Images” section. I expected love, people holding hands, peace signs, all those things to come up first. They did.
Type it.
~D.
No
6 Jul![[Insert esoteric metaphor here.]](https://liaklienad.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/ra_15.jpg)
Let’s not get into it. I don’t want to talk about it. No, stop. Really, guys, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just something I need to handle myself, okay?
Hey, I asked you what you were doing first, so tell me. No, come on, tell me. What if I tell you what I’m doing afterwards. Still? All right, then I guess we’re keeping secrets from each other now, okay, makes sense, it happens.
Oh, COME ON! You’ve got to tell me what you’ve been UP TO! Writing? Baseball? Bowling? Why don’t we go bowling some time? Scared I’ll beat you? I’ll admit that I’m pretty good with duckpin, but I’ll need to practice more if I’m going to take you out at standard bowling.
No, I’m NOT telling you. Go eat breakfast. Maybe we’ll talk later tonight.
What, you think I’m being selfish? TO HELL WITH YOU! You’re damn right I’m being selfish, and I like it THAT WAY! You’d rather I gave you more? Well, tell me what you’ve been up to.
Okay, so you’re working out. That’s nice. That can’t be all though. How’s that friend of yours? They okay? Staying safe? No? Hospital? Ah, bummer. But I ain’t pitying you, no sir. I’m keeping my mouth shut until you tell me what’s really going on.
AHA! Finally, some @nswers! So, you’ve gotten tired of reading my stuff, eh? Oh, hush, you know you love it all. You’ve just forgotten how much you loved it because it’s the norm now, it’s not quite as “fresh” and “hip” and “tubular” as it once was. You need it to be “rockin'” and “sweet” and “clutch” and all those fancy things you use to call something “radical” nowadays.
Well, I’m not changing. If you don’t like it anymore, leave now and never come back.
What? You’re still here? What, this? Oh, it’s just a story I’m working on. Hey, listen, about what I said, I was just, you know, being, you know, dumb.
That thing you wanted to know, it was just me thinking about stopping, about not posting anymore. I was just thinking about is all, not saying I’d do that. I’m not stopping, you know that. I can’t stop. Well, I can, but I won’t.
I just sometimes feel like nobody’s there, you know? And I know you’re there, I check the statistics every day, and they look fine. I still get messages from you guys. But it still feels like you’re just here because you’re obliged to, because you’ve been here so long you feel like leaving would be rude or something. I’m okay with rude, I’m fine with rude.
You can leave any time you want. I’m not leaving. Someone will come by and replace you. It always happens. Everyone gets replaced. Except me. I’m not getting replaced. If God ever asks me whether I want to be replaced, you know what I’m going to tell him?
Actually, let’s not get into it. I don’t want to talk about it. No, stop. Really, guys, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just something I need to handle myself, okay?
~D.
Pickles and Jam
3 May
Okay, guys. I know I joke around a lot on here, and I know you like that (yeah, I actually read the messages and emails and all that jazz), but I’m listening to Stairway to Heaven right now and, to be honest, it’s making me look back at everything I’ve accomplished. I’m smiling, the reason being that I’ve actually created quite the impact on a few people throughout the past few years that I’ve been doing this. It makes me proud to know I’ve helped a few people, even inspired some. You know, I might go so far as to say that you guys are—naw, I’ll save that one. That one’s important.
But, I do enjoy you all, and I know y’all enjoy me and my work and shtuff. So, the first thing I’m going to do is paste the fully edited version of the first chapter of Ledge on here for you. Now, you may think I’m being lazy, but the point isn’t the chapter, it’s the second thing I’m doing, which comes after the chapter.
So, here it goes. This is for you guys, really:
———————————————————————————————————————————–
CHAPTER ONE: CLINGING
There’s darkness, and then the curtains are drawn back. Time starts. His thumb moves. Click. That’s the sound of the gun’s hammer getting pulled back.
“Still won’t talk, Mr. Adams?”
That’s Greg. He isn’t holding the gun. Mac’s holding the gun. Mac’s seven feet tall, or something.
“Hit him again, Mac.”
Whack! That’s me getting punched in the face by a left hook. The gun’s in his right hand, not aimed at anything in particular yet.
“Come on, Adams. We don’t got all day. Just tell us where your friend is and we’ll let you go.”
My friend is Michael. I won’t tell Greg anything. I think my jaw’s broken anyway. It hurts like hell.
“Adams…”
We’re in a hotel room. It’s got a nice view overlooking Lake Oslana. That wasn’t the lake’s first name, but the owner of the hotel line decided it’d be a nice one to buy. I wonder what it was called originally.
“You know how easy this is. And it’s not like we’re gonna backstab you or anything. Just let us at him!”
I wish Greg would get it over with and have my ass capped already. My favorite suit’s already ruined, and there’s no way I’m exposing Michael—no way. I really hope he doesn’t come in and try to save me or anything.
AGH! GOOD GOD!
“That’s strike one. Next we put a bullet in your other thigh. Might be hard to walk around. Start talking.”
Jesus Christ, it hurts so much! Keep it together, Eddie! Be cool! You’ll make it out of this. Just need a plan.
Greg’s looking over at the other two men in the room, Mac not being one of them. He says something to them, but I can’t hear it very well. It HURTS!
“…and if we’re not quick enough, the Doctor might wonder what’s taking so long!”
The Doctor: a psychotic crime lord, currently working with the government (strange irony there). Whack! Another punch. The Doctor REALLY wants Michael dead, huh?
“We may have to waterboard it out of this guy,” says one of the other men. I don’t know his name, just some random goon with a gun. I hope Greg doesn’t agree.
“Get the rags,” he says. Now I’m done for. I won’t be able to hold out through that stuff. I hope Michael left the country. It’s not safe here in State 9 anymore, not with all that’s been happening lately.
A lot of time passes once the third man exits to get the rags. I give Greg an indifferent look. He shoots a glare. I give Mac the same look and he just snorts and walks off, dropping the gun on a sofa chair. He talks quietly with the last man in the room (just another goon).
“Why do you care so much?” Greg asks me. I become introspective and really analyze this before I answer, and then I shrug seeing as nothing I say will prove satisfactory. If I told him how Michael saved me, how he was different from the other you-know-whats, he wouldn’t understand. He’d just say I was a nutcase who needed his head examined.
After the course of two or three minutes (it felt like a lot more to me), the rags arrive with the third man. He tosses them to Mac, who catches them with ease.
“Did you bring the bottles too?” Greg asks.
“They’re just outside sir,” the man responds. “I’ll go get ‘em.”
The chair I’m strapped to is made of wood. It is laid across the floor, me now facing the ceiling. This is going to suck.
“You could always talk now,” Greg offers. I remain silent, like a good friend should, and the rags are placed over my face. I toss my head to the left, throwing the rags off. When a hard punch hits me in the—Lord, that hurts!—face I stopped turning. The rags go over me again. I think my nose is bleeding.
One of the water bottles is opening, I can hear it. Here it comes. Mac’s tilting it right now. Get out now, Michael. Get out before they find y—CRASH!
“What the—?!”
The sound of men being tossed about the room echoes through my ears. Bullets fly from Mac’s gun, but it explodes in his hand, causing him to shout in pain. The other two goons fire but are launched into the ceiling, their necks snapping. I can hear Greg being pinned against the wall. Mac is groaning and weeping on the floor as the rags are lifted off my face.
Michael.
“Get out of here!” I tell him. He unties the ropes that bind me and helps me into a sofa chair. There’s Greg, being held against the wall by Michael’s power.
“I couldn’t just leave you,” he tells me, before looking to Greg with an expressionless face. One of the guns of the dead goons soars toward his hand. He aims it at the leader of the group, now begging for mercy.
“To harm an ally of mine is to hang oneself,” the angel says. Then a red mark appears between the eyes of Greg and blood trickles down from it until it reaches his lips. The body falls to the floor, lifeless. Michael looks back at me.
“Are you all right, Edward?”
“Yeah,” I lie, “I’m dandy. You showed up just in time. Although I still think you need to get the hell out of Dodge.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “We are getting out, not I.”
“I have to see Sally first.”
Sally’s my girlfriend. She’s—she’s beautiful. It’s a long story. I haven’t quite decided whether I’ll marry her yet. We’ve been with each other quite a while now.
“No time,” Michael tells me, causing me further worry. “Those were easy hunters. If they send Lucifer—.”
“I can’t just leave her. They’ll kill her!”
I’m standing now, but my leg hurts too much. I’m trembling as I fall back into the chair. Michael holds a hand to where the bullet is and slowly—YAGH—levitates it out of me. I’m not bleeding too badly. Okay, maybe I AM bleeding too badly. But he’s already ripping a bed sheet apart and wrapping a piece of it around the wound.
“That should stop the bleeding. Raphael will be able to heal you later.”
“Michael, I can’t leave her.”
His face, though without expression, holds weight behind it like you couldn’t imagine. His eyes waver and glow. And then, he understands.
“I will get you to safety first. The others are downstairs with a car. I’ll let them get you out of here, then I’ll get the girl.”
I’m thinking of disagreeing, thinking of telling him I have to be there when it happens. But that’d be foolish right now. I need healing, and Raphael’s always been the quickest at that.
“All right, fine. Let’s go.”
He nods. We depart. Mac looked dead last I checked.
This world has changed since the war. I can only hope that doing what I’m doing will help save it from its own self-destruction. Although, to be honest, when I look outside at the covert dystopia that has come, I can’t help but lose hope entirely.
We’re hanging on a ledge right now. I really hope Man’s fingers don’t get any more tired than they already are.
———————————————————————————————————————————–
Before I go, I want to tell you a true story about the power of art. There was once this girl sitting in a car on a city bridge. It was night, and not very many cars were passing by at the time. She was crying, weeping actually, because right then, right there, in that moment, she intended, completely and utterly, to drive over the edge of the bridge into the water below. Sweat trickled down her neck and shivers traveled up her spine. Now, this sort of thing happens all the time, and so, naturally, she could’ve just pressed down on the gas and gotten it over with. In most cases, this would’ve been so.
So then there was this nightclub. A DJ (I won’t say who, but suffice to say he’s a pretty big deal in the clubbing world—and a family friend) was playing some killer tracks, and everyone was going wild. The room was electric, truly. You could feel the life pulsating through it, like a heartbeat. Then, after the DJ’s work was done and he was turning in for the night, someone tried to reach him backstage. At first, security tried to shove the person away, but the DJ approved their passage, for they did not seem to be some crazy, drunk fan out seeking autographs or something “intimate.” His guess was right, for it was then that the person told him of the miracle that had been bestowed upon them.
They had just recently gone through some of the toughest trials life had ever thrown their way. In fact, these trials were so punishing and cruel, that the person had been driven to the point where death seemed like the only option. And then, literally seconds before the gas pedal was pressed down and a body was made soulless, a song came on the radio, a song called It’s Gonna Be Okay. It was one of the DJ’s best songs.
Art saved her life that night.
To all my fans who are artists: any time you think maybe your life would be more useful somewhere else, doing what society has told you is “productive,” remember that you’re doing something that actually saves lives. If that ain’t productive—ah, screw that, it’s productive, know it like you know your name. We need more of you out there, because even if you’re never thanked for it, know that you’re doing something badass just by being an artist.
So yeah, that’s why I put random pictures at the top of all my articles. Now, finish the night with this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwAYpLVyeFU
Love,
D.
So, a terrorist attack, eh?
17 Apr
Let’s talk about that.
So, these bombs went off, you see? I don’t need to tell you what happened. These bombs went off, and people were hurt, a few killed. Blood and broken bones, reports of strollers being torn to bits. I’m not sure if there were kids in ’em, but that’s what I heard on the radio. And now we’re all talking about it, and the T.V.’s repeating it over and over, and it’s slowly becoming soldered into your mind, like a parasite. And you don’t even realize it, but now, because that’s happened, because you’re all talking about it, and because you’re all perpetuating the horrible, horrible incident that happened yesterday (and yes, I’m guilty of doing so right here, right now), they’ve won. They’ve done exactly what they intended. It’s an endless stream of chaos, burning through the tongues of society’s youth life wildfire. And you’ve got the matches, they lit ’em, and you’re tossing ’em into dried grass.
This wasn’t about killing anybody specific, or, frankly, about killing people, period. This was about sending a shock wave through every city, over every mountain, across every valley, river, lake and stream, into every home, on every television set. This wasn’t about money, or religion (even if they find out it was Islamic Extremists). Those are all just kerfluffle bits in the way of the real, basic truth: this was about creating an effect, one that stuck. And boy did they do it. Look at you! Even now you were probably thinking about it, before you even read this. That’s why you came to read this. In fact, I can guarantee that you definitely came to read this article for one of three or reasons:
- You wanted to release some of that anger concerning the incident by reading another viewpoint and going, “Yeah, I agree! This was awful!”
- Your school is doing some kind of report thingie on it, so you’ve got to gather as much data as possible, which means you sure as hell are interested in this heinous act.
- You were hoping this was something about the whole thing being planned by the government, an inside job, or something conspiratorial.
There’s also one other exception: you’re just BSing around on the internet, which, in my opinion, if the best reason to have read this article. So, kudos to you. To the rest, shut up. I don’t mean to be rude, but—actually, I do mean to be rude, SHUT UP. I’m tired of everybody talking about this nonsense. Yes, it’s bad, it sucks, I mean that sincerely, but they want us to keep talking about it. In Israel, they never make a big media blast about terrorism. If bus 117 got bombed the other day, then the next day they’d get everybody riding bus 117. Why? Because if bus 117 was empty, then it worked: nobody will do THAT anymore, because THAT’S dangerous.
I can give you the cliche “everybody join hands and work together” crap, which is totally true, by the way, or we can get down to the bottom of this. This is a loop we’re on, a cycle that keeps being perpetuated and perpetuated by Man’s loving of talking about bad things that happened. It’s a disease. The cure is shut the hell up and talk about good things instead. We could have men on Mars soon, MARS! Cures for all kinds of diseases are being developed and put out right now! Books can be published by anyone from the age of born to whenever! TALK ABOUT THAT, THEN WE WIN, NOT THEM!
I only talked about it at first so that you guys would listen to the rest, so that you would get the point. I don’t want to keep this cycle going, I want to end it. It can end now, starting with you.
Let’s talk about that.
~D.
Well, I’ve done it…
24 Feb
…I’ve now realized I can’t make one viewer jokes anymore. Know why? This is going to sound weird, but it perpetuates the idea that I only have one person reading these, and my stats have gone down since I’ve been saying it. I won’t say by how much, but it’s enough for me to take note of it. So now, I’m going to do something very strange: I’m going to act as though I have a million viewers. I noticed that that seems to work. If one acts as though they’re already successful and it’s all already done, things move right in that direction. And so now, my three billion readers, I want to talk to you.
I want to tell you how thankful I am that you’ve been following me for all these years. I want to tell you how much the trillions of emails I get from you warm my heart and make me laugh so often. Even the hate mail gives me a smile, since I get to say, “Oh, you crazy kook,” every time I read them.
I want to tell you how thankful I am for the gifts that I can’t find space for in my room. I’ve been stuffing a lot of them in my office, controversially placed in Geneva, Switzerland. I especially love the bust of Aaron Sorkin, who is, incidentally, one of my favorite writers. Thanks, Tom, for that one. Oh, and whoever anonymously sent me that map book of Middle-earth, massive props. Please comment you name below so we all know who you are.
I want to tell you how thankful I am that you and I have an honest connection, even with so many of you there. It’s good this way, it really is. I like transparency, and I like to be as personal as I can with you.
My friends, it’s a good day today. Tim Tebow’s going to the Super Bowl, the U.S. is in a surplus and we’re about to establish a colony on Mars. Please, keep reading my stuff, and I’ll keep reading your stuff, too.
~D.
Dylan Alexander 