Merry Christmas

It's Christmas..yet my heart hurts...heavy with worry.

Where is she..

Is she okay..

Should I visit her unexpectedly just to see if she's okay?

Nightmares flash through my mind..

Must think good thoughts..

She just overslept..

that's all..

People.

Talked to an old friend who wondered where all her old friends went. Why they didn't talk to her anymore. I told her, distance makes people grow apart. If you value a relationship you would try to maintain it. I was being an hypocrite. I can't even happily maintain my own relationships, yet here I am giving advice. I don't deserve to give others advice, to give them support, when I can't accomplish the same task myself. I merely abused the wisdom of others and gave it to her. Is it the right thing to do? I justify myself by saying, she benefited from their wisdom, but it was hypocritical of me to say it. I will do my best to change it.

People.

Before the rise of cities, people lived in clans and villages. Everyone knew each other on a name to name basis. You learned to deal with the most annoying arrogant people, and you learned to love them,, for they were part of your village family.

That sense of love and connection is gone now.

I tell myself, just think of their annoying company as practice. It will be good for you to be adaptable to a variety of people.

Hypocritical.

Yet I try.

Moral High Ground.

In my youth...

Who am I kidding, I am still young.

In my childhood, during the transitory period from elementary school kid to middle school I

would refer to myself in the third person as an assassin.

An assassin.

A murderer.

A killer of persons.

I was full of anger then, at my family, at the world, at the cruel taunts I endured throughout elementary school. I vowed to have a fresh start in middle school. Modeling after my Forgotten Realm heroes, I decided that having confidence was the key to being strong. I stopped plugging my hands into my pockets, and walked with my head up high and my arms swinging stupidly at my sides. It worked. To a degree. In a school where I was little unknown, I could forge a new persona for myself based on my actions and words. Who knew that the stupid caveman like swinging of the arms was the alpha-male posturing that has been bred into humanity for millenia. The bigger, hulkier you are, and the more you swing your arms- the more threatening you. Picture*: brutish caveman swinging club = brutish football player

I could never be cool. I despised those cool kids with their name brands and their slang and their posturing...almost as much as I envied them. I wanted to make friends based on my own ability and not that of their parent's wealth.

I was gifted with decent intelligence and athletic ability and as such I could mingle with almost any crowd. After a while I met a few groups of girls as was natural. In order to impress them I coined the third person name: assassin. Ass Ass in.. hahaha..

I liked the name for its mystery- a symbol of swift deadliness ending in silent mercy.

Now I view the term assassin again.

And I wonder: will I be able to kill.

Even in defense of my loved one, will I be able to kill.

For a higher, greater moral good would I be able to kill.

These higher based reasons do not hide the fact it is cold murder.

Even if it is for the greater good, one life to save many, when it comes to the actual act

I do not know if I will be able to kill.

Courage, bravery, strength.

What do these words mean. Are they not all subjective.

The brutish man views a slighter's man hesitation, his moment of mercy as a sign of weakness.

The weaker man views a brutish man's blood lust and lack of refinement as a sign of weakness.

To the brutish man, the slighter man's inability to finish off his foe is a mistake, a weakness. The enemy will only come back again in greater force, to repay in blood. Strength of arms is the only defense; to bully, to bluff, to fight.

To the weaker man, the brutish's man blood lust and berserker rage is the mistake; the killing of the enemy will only bring about graver repercussions. The loss of rational thought and conscience makes him an animal. Give your foe mercy and he may repay you, in blood or kindness, but you offered him a choice. Friendship may be garnered, debts repaid. Your conscience is clean.

There are those who kill for money. Some out of greed. Others out of necessity. They are driven by their human condition. When faced with such a choice; starve or prey on the weak..what will you choose. What if you have a family to feed. A dying relative...a dying love?

Which is stronger, the heart or the stomach. Evolution argues stomach. A majority of humanity will say the same.

I see the homeless on the street, their faces are weathered and lined. Their eyes glisten with pain and suffering, yet their faces radiate a sense of calm. A calm filled with desperation and pleading, yes, but they have a kindness. They do not harm others. They merely ask for a little help. The spiteful tell them to help themselves. The annoyed give them a quarter. Me, I look them in the eye, talk to them and walk away. I am just another one of the many faces they beg from. But they walk away with even sadder eyes, some angrier.

Assassin.

I will kill for the greater good, the moral high ground dictates it to be so.

I will kill for survival, but not at the expense of innocent people.

But can I deal the death blow. Can I look another human being in the eyes and take their life. It is not a matter of disgust or gore or moral questions. It is a matter of humanity.

The wise say that with every soul you take, you lose a part of yourself, even if it is for the betterment of mankind.

Assassin.

A term I took upon myself with endearment. I revoke you.

It is a cruel and unjust society that trains silent graceful killers. A necessary evil.

I do not know if I can kill upon the moment, even if it meant saving the ones I loved.

I love her.

Maker.

Exerpt from Orson Scott Card's Alvin Maker Series.

I can't figure out if my milling is Making or Unmaking. The stones grind the grain and break it apart into dust, so that's Unmaking. But the dust is flour, and you can use it to make bread and cake that the maize or wheat can't be made into, so milling might be just a step along the road to Making. Is grinding flour Making or Unmaking?

I taught a girl how to feel emotions. She used to hide beneath a calm facade, and dealt with all of life's problems on her own. She was content, and her calm outward appearance was something to be marveled at by friends and family; to be copied. For her face spoke of peace and radiated calm to those who knew her but slightly. Her inner thoughts and turmoil never surfaced and others never knew. Then I taught her to feel. To cry. To smile and laugh. She tells me, "I'm broken." I, in my stupidity and desire to help her, ask, "How can I fix you?" She replies, "Undo what you have done, unmake me." I argue back, "Is it not better to feel some emotion and show it to loved ones so they may help you?" She retort, "No! I was happy the way I was. I was self sufficient and independent! I don't want to rely on others." Me: "You don't have to rely solely on yourself, there are others that will help you. Neither do you have to give up your self sufficiency. It is but a compromise. In time you will see that is better to be human and feel these emotions." She doesn't believe me.

We no longer argue about it. It seems that with time she has grown to accept this change in herself. But she still remembers the period when she was "unbroken" and sometimes wishes for it.

Did I Fix her or did I Break her?

Did I Maker her better or did I Unmake her?

Full Metal Bitch

New as I am to this blog, I accidentally posted before I was done.

Random thought: I should post as many random words as I can, so when people google, my blog will turn up first. But it is too much of a hassle.

Random music: Catalyst- Linkin Park

Might be wondering what the title means. Its the nickname of a red haired soldier in a science fiction novel I was reading. Translated from Japanese.

My head words, I'm going to eat my shrimp and crab

and shower, then resume.

Full Metal Bitch.

I hate writing. My imagination conjures up images not words. I live my memories and my dreams as I would reality. To put the colors and the emotions onto paper is to cheapen it. Yet, our libraries, our universities are filled with rows upon rows of books. Sources of knowledge, of power, of wealth. The power to change a person's life written on flimsy pieces of paper. Destructible. Purged by fire. Purged by water. Purged by vomit and piss. Our legacy, our knowledge should be written in stone.

I have started writing again because the person I care most about in the world undergoes great anguish; fear and pain- when I lose myself to my moments of weakness and shut myself off.

This person deserves better. What any normal human being could and should ask for I cannot give continuously. Am I weak? Yes. Could I do better? That is a question that I and many others have asked myself many times. I am afraid to answer. Will my answer define me? At the moment of answering, that particle of speech is only part of the meat world. It will be heeded, then forgotten. Unlike the world of circuits and zeros and ones; where anything you type can and will be recorded.

So I write. No. I type... into this electronic world of unending memory provided there is still a meat bag somewhere to monitor this growing electrical entity.

For her.

Because she wants to remember.

For me? Maybe. When my memory cannot hold the thoughts that I deem are important, should those thoughts not be forgotten? Some would argue it is a matter of retrieval. Memories are never forgotten, they are merely lost. Leaving behind a memento, a link to the past will help you recall. Photographs, journals, letters, video.

On their wedding day, couples pay good money for a photographer and a recorder; to mark down the joyous occasion. I have never seen my mother watch her wedding video; nor my aunt; nor my recently married cousins. Is that particular video used only during times of sadness and pain? To recall happier times, the video is viewed. In doing so, the user inevitably becomes sadder. Is forgetting not better? No link to the past, no way to recall. Your pain is shortened, you move on.

The choice is not mine to decide. So I will give you the options, as many as I can in the small amount of time I have. I will create a record of my thoughts and our times.

You can choose to recall these memories, or you can choose not to.

Either way, the choice is yours.