Dancing for the joy of it.

Much like walking around in the New York winter without the time limit or setting of Max Payne.

Much like bouncing in randomized patterns, swinging your arms and legs in motions to a rhythm best described as an attempt at music.

Ah-hooo! A bucket full of ash? Coming your way now!

Oh, the share joy of moving in silly fashion, dancing of your heart’s content – spraying smiles all over the place and not spilling the tea on someone’s shirt – because that’s impolite – and jump, jump, jump around! There are flowers, hidden wonders, dancing in the night. There’s apples, ladies and fruit like you wouldn’t believe! Ponies, bronies, fanfiction, deviation, non-damnation, damp socks and wet underwear amongst the unmentionables of the dark mind, filled with corners and soft texture. Fiction crashing with faction, what is real seems dreamy and you’re suddenly afraid of waking up.

"You, see, in this world there’s two kinds of people, my friend: Those with loaded guns and the those who dig. You dig."

Today is a day of animistic inspiration and a whistle in the wind. Sing along, you know the tune.

As such, I went into writing because it seemed like the perfect vehicle for commenting on the madness of today’s existence. Totally untrue, of course. It’s not even my own words. Still, thanks to you, Robert Mapplethorne, for a bending of the art of photography to serve other functions. An ukulele playing William Shatner with glasses on, perhaps?

Getting ready to kill right-winged bigots with just a description of the situation. Thank you. Even if the original quote was this:

"We are ready to kill right-winged bigots with just a description of our situation."
And that is why somepony's worth more than just a little lovin'.

I shall see the flame for what it is.

Sometimes great moments happen. Tonight was one of those moments. Sometimes knowing is enough. Sometimes it's all right. And I'm becoming me.

Becoming me. Graceful and noble.

Because science. Fuck science.

Leap of faith un-crashed.

Enough. Enough now.

It’s come to my attention that all things should have an ending as they without a doubt always are presented with a beginning. Very well. Consider this my ending, at least for now. Oh, don’t be foolish, I’m not talking about THE ending, just… A ending. See? There’s a difference. Big one, too.

Now, I shan’t begin to explain how the world works because it’s perfectly capable to doing so without my say so, much as it always have and will continue to do once I’m out of the picture. Nor do I expect to be standing on ceremony. Oh, no, no, thank you, but no thank you. This is my show, I’m running it, I’m the one who’s allowed to say CUT, not anypony else. Much like a torn up newspaper from yesterday’s bin, all crumbled and filled with crumpets. Savvy?

An end, you say. Then I shall make it such an end that they’ll talk about it for years to come, worthy of recognition. Perhaps they’ll even sing songs about it. I highly doubt it, but I’ve been known to be surprised on just how the world really works from time to time. But, perhaps this is one of those times, hmm?

Overly dramatic? Yes, you’re quite right. It is, of course. Still, does have a nice feel to it, doesn’t it? The words, the composition… Even the heading.

Goodbye. I bid you all a very fond farewell.

Tonight the night is silent.

Yes, it is.

And because of it I’ll not disturb the sound of silence.

My words will be few.

To the world, I wish the best.

To my dearest and nearest, the same.

In the future, I’ll be working at the holidays.

Providing joy and hope to those who’ll have to spend days like this in the hospital.

It’s a noble goal, I think.

I think.

Quiet complication.

Outside condition.

Yes.

The rest is silence.

The lights you place on a grave are not red.

The night is cold. The wind… the wind blows. Piercing stars gaze upon those who look at them from afar, only to remain diminished by the paleness of the moon. Yet the green, blue, black and silver bids me welcome. The stars, the moon, the wind, the trees... Tonight is a night to walk outside, to feel alive, to hold one's head high as the cloak flaps behind; unseen, but not unfelt or unheard. And as I throw the hood back with the help of the gentle breeze I stand there, watching, watching you stand next to me. You let the wind caress your hair, your skin, your soul. You shut your eyes to the wonders of the night, listening, listening to the music. The music of the night. Your smile is soft upon your features.

I close my eyes, too, wanting to embrace eternity. Now you’re but a memory, for your presence is masked to me. The wind, the cold, the light of the moon and stars playing on my eyelids and sends shivers down my body. I reach out with a hand and you’re not there. I open my eyes. You're not there. I wish you were. Here.

As I’m lying in the red I imagine you beside me. You’re looking at me. I’m looking at you. Silently we stay, naked for the lights. Laid bare, souls at peace and at rest. The moment goes on. Neither of us wants to end it.

Disturb it.

Break it.

Shatter it.

End it.

The moment goes on.

Your face seems soft in the candlelight.

The red and the black flicker on the walls. We’re together at last.

Speak simply, straight and with a smile.

Speak simply.

Sadly, I seldom speak in a manner easy to understand by others, both by words and intent. Yes, my words are not simple, but at the same time, I relish the lack of simplicity in them. Complex? Not necessarily. Needlessly and irking? Undoubtedly. I still do it.

Straight.

As my lack for linear thinking and red thread I can’t say that my vocal capacity is living by this principle. Not going into the whole sexual aspect of the theme (because that would clearly send much left to be wanted), I’m merely saying that it’s harder than first thought and not something that’s always applauded in our time and society.

With a smile.

This I do too little. I try, but sometimes a smile can be a bad thing. Still, it’s the mental output of it that matters at times. My mind may smile even though my lips may not hint at it, even if this is hard and not something I can say I’m a master of. Likewise my lips, eyes, face and outward appearance can play the part of the smile while the inside, masked behind what I want others to see.

Conclusion.

In the end, be yourself.

Ending this on an epic note.

Because music makes you braver.

Seems somehow fitting, too.

The game’s afoot.

Turns out that the twist – and I do mean that word in the terms of jurisdiction as well as high running emotions – is now looking to conclude and shelved away, thus presenting a long sought out settlement. Pray hope that I’m not mistaken in this matter.

If you do not know what I speak of (as such often is the case) I’m afraid I cannot say more as the whole legal point of view in this situation is but a few steps away from the courts, giving both parties cause for concern and pause. What I can reveal is that the entire proceedings have an air of poor handling, misinformation, and obvious lack of information as well as overall marked by non-objectivity. Having elected officials isn’t always a good thing, for what does one do when the majority of said officials are refusing fair play and don’t follow the standard protocol because it doesn’t help their version of the cause?

Let the hunt begin.

Not for justice, not for what’s right, but for fighting corruption.

...

Other than that, it’s time to return to the capital for various tasks. I’ll be staying at the odd traditional location that’s become something of a strange habit for me over the years. If you so wish to see me while I’m in town, please let me know – I’m not done making all the preparations, so it’s quite possible we’ll have the option of a little get together. All I’m asking is that you initiate contact.

Sometimes you follow something. Then that something change.

Because nothing ever stays the same. Not even math.

Have you ever followed an ideal? An idea? Something otherwise abstract enough to become uncorrupted? It’s not going to last. Even if you are one of the few who can see it to the end, that’s just it: it’s YOUR end. Not the ideal, not the idea, but yours. It just means you’ll not be around to see the development of it any more. Harsh? That’s life. Honest? Brutal, but it’s no more a lie than life.

Picture a dark horse. Then have it run. It’s night time. The horse is galloping across a wide selections of fields, giving you pause, having you stare at the magnificent being, letting your guard down to admire and envy the creature. And then it’s all over? The horse isn’t to blame. The horse just ran. It’s you. You, a thing of limitations who stopped to gaze at something beyond beauty, have noticed something: Your time have run out. You’ll not be able to see the horse race to a finish line.

Because 'tis no line but the one you set yourself.

Each miss at your chance is a costly mistake.

Are you sure you can afford it?

Like a krogan crib, crippling and condescending, bringing you one step closer to what’s not important. Why? Let’s get one thing straight. If it’s a distraction, it’s not that important. You can lie as much to yourself as you’d like, it’s not going to change the fact. Andraste be merciful, you don’t know it’s coming and there’s nothing you can do about at all.

Do you need some space? I can offer you just that.

Given enough time, any one may master the physical. With enough knowledge, any one may become wise. It is the true warrior who can master both.

Lost love between two parties? Oh. What I’m exhibiting is more like a platonic symbiosis rather than the typical hormonally-induced courtship behavior. That doesn’t mean that I’ve disregarded feelings out of the equation. Because I, as well as my special somepony, are humid, prepossessing Homo sapiens with full-sized aortic pumps.

Algernon’s flowers. Yes, it’s true.

What is love? Love is keeping faithful to your non-joining companion in the sequel, not making another romance despite it being an achievement. Makes me proud not to have it. Almost as proud as this doesn’t transcend the love, but confirms that somethings are true no matter the universe and timeline.

Yes. Because if even an accursed Sovereign can be meant to understand the non-linear of time, thus making our choices, our every second of living important… L? In a world without you, I’d be a different pony. Maybe even a better one, despite circumstances. But I don’t want to change the past. The past is part of who I am. The past helped me figure out WHO I am today. And I wouldn’t change it for the world. I can’t predict what’s to come. What I can do is offer to share it with you.

It’s human to make mistakes. It’s the mark of a great one to forgive the mistakes of others and one self. Because in this world there is no saving function. There is no going back. Therefore we have to do better than what we are, what we’ve been. Because it’s the future that matters. Going back isn’t an option. Sorry.

Lips dripping of honey are hard to kiss. Just hold me closer. Don't dance. Just stop making my world spin and hold me, tiny dancer with impact out of propositions.

I love you, L.

I love you, M.

I love you, C.

I love you all.

And I’m sorry.

Paris at night.

I remember a night like last night with the same sunken gut, the known knot in the stomach and the not so distant feeling of mourning and loss – all part of the familiar experience some years back. I didn’t expect to have that feeling revisited. I’m not so sure when the next one will come now.

Back in July 22 2011 I went on night watch duty. The most common perception from that night? Surreal, unrealistic. The “how could this happen” and “why” swirled around a lot. Last night that didn’t happen: I was simply quietly grieving in silence, as well as growing a new-found fear of the future.

In other charming news; I’ll be spending the next month – yes, that’s right: the entire month – in night watch mode, starting yesterday. Well, it’s going to be shortage of light anyway, so I might as well do it when it’s easy to sleep during the day. Or, easier, at least. Still, getting paid to stay up all night? I can think of worse jobs.

Born. Given life. Alive. Unchecked. Wild. Running.

Checkmate.

We’ll always have Paris. And New Orleans.

Can it wait for a bit? I'm in the middle of some calibrations.

It seems that by leaving BoR I’ve unintendedly ended up insulting people whom I had plans with. Not telling them about my sudden exit and lack of lust to continue with said future isn’t a particular feeling I wish to inflict upon others. Yet that’s just what I ended up doing. The fallout? Broken trust and wounded words. Both earned and justified.

It’s not the first time I’ve left people behind. It’s not going to be the last, either. I’m not sure if I’m able to change in the direction I want.

I’m a horrible person. I try not to be, but I am. The morose goose with flesh of dolls, biting down the pill of poison, sucking the feast of life’s enjoyment like a bloodless thing. Shouldn't such a creature be put down?

Anything can change at a moment’s notice. Everything can end in a brief second. Life goes on. Life as a concept goes on. 

I’m not going to seek forgiveness. I’m not going to atone for my mistakes and sins.

Upsetting the status quo.

Remember (because it’s November)

It’s not often we do follow this advice. Sure, we do it all the time in our daily lives, keeping in mind this and that, letting knowledge and information be used as it’s relevant to us – like studying for a test you need to pass. The question is if you’re able to remember much of this at a later point unless it’s still something that affects you. And what about outdated information, something that used to hold value but in later time have either proven to be incorrect or been debunked in favor of new and updated relevant know-how? Do you make a point of remembering that?

This in turn brings us over to scholars and historians. Holding a degree in neither one of these professions myself, I cannot help but find a strange comfort that the past isn’t something I hold a clinging grip on. As it comes to my own past and my own memories, they are somewhat fractured. I’ve stated several times that recollection isn’t my strong suit and that I’ve often been forced to be reminded of something that should not have been forgotten in the first place. I'm used to it. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

And what about lies? Telling them, polishing them, retelling them, knowing who you said what to… Information can be a tricky business, that’s for sure. No information broker for me, thank you very much – I’ve got enough half-truths to keep track of already. This doesn’t even begin with the lies others are keeping.

When it comes to art, does the actor on stage preform a lie? Is theatre anything but an elaborate twist of shadows and smoke, casting a ghastly reflection in the mirror of recollection? That’s a good question, but one I'm not entitled to answer.

Languages. Important stuff. The millions of things that you have to deal with. Passwords. Codes. Friends. Family. Loved ones. Secrets. Hopes, dreams, future plans… There’s quite the lot, isn’t it? Big bunch of stuff. Yeah. Almost everything, when you come to think about it.

There’s a famous – if not THE most famous – writer from my country that ended up with this exceptional quote: “Forever owned is only the lost.” (Evig eies kun det tapte.) That’s Ibsen, by the way, if you didn’t know that. Shame on you, oh-that-must-have-slipped-my-mind. Shame on you. Also, in the LARP (Live Action Role Playing) community there’s this version of the saying; “forever owned is only the taped”. And by “taped” we mean duct tape. Lots of it. Lots and lots of duct tape. And then some more. Funny how memory works sometimes, isn't it?

In the end it comes down to a simple, single point. You’ll end up not remembering. Accepting that as truth can be somewhat difficult.

Forgetting is easy.

Too easy, sometimes.

Yet we still do it.

I guess that’s part of being Human.